It's Over Now it's time to begin
by Mystiqbard
Summary: CHAPTER 8: "My mind has been carved up like a goddamn Christmas turkey an' there ain't a fuckin' thing I can do about it." She reached out to him but he grabbed her wrist and held it too tight as he hurtled them both back against the wall.
1. And then there was light

_**It's Over. Now it's time to begin**_

Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.

_A/n:_ _Dusting it the heck off, and picking this one up. I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

Logan woke up. His cheek had pressed against the cold, hard and filthy floor of the concrete block which kept him. Dark, ink black; but this was a sight he'd come to expect, if it could be called that at all. He rolled onto his back, his arm resting against the cold, hard and filthy wall. This had been his life for... he didn't know how long. He'd been drugged, he'd known that once he came to, but by who and why, he couldn't tell. The last thing he remembered, before the black, was trying to make his way through the mass of people on the Main street sidewalk. He hated crowds, now he was justified in doing so. How the hell his captors managed to drag off an unconscious, 300lbs man in broad daylight, still remained a mystery to him. The first time he'd found himself between the four concrete walls, he'd punched, kicked and clawed at them, even trying to jump his way to some sort of door or hatch. He figured they'd put him in there somehow. The darkness had been his worst enemy, and every other sense but that of touch had been more useless than he'd ever have imagined. He hadn't spoken to anyone in... months at the very least. After shouting and growling the first few days he'd realised it was useless to do either. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on his chest; far from it's former glory. There was hardly any air reaching the room; he'd found a small vent some time ago, but it had been chiseled out of the concrete and was only five centimeters or so in length and breadth. Escape was impossible.

_888_

Isolation. Or, solitary, as some called it. As time moved on, he began to loose hope; everyone has a breaking point. Pacing the length of the small space had become futile, and after a long bout of starvation, it had become almost impossible. Later on in his captivity, a small hatch above the room had been opened; a small plastic tub of watery food... or something like it, had been dropped in. These deliveries had occurred only three or four times; they knew about his healing factor. Not only had time become a blur, but reality had begun to blur seamlessly into hallucination, which by now had begun to govern every waking moment. With almost every sense cut off, the only thing he was still able to utilise, was his mind. Though the more time he spent in the pit that held him, the more he questioned even that. His sight had been taken; his ears had become useless; the only smells his nose could detect came from him, and they'd gotten steadily worse; the slug he was given served only to keep him from death, and his hands had felt the four walls and floor before becoming just as useless. He would have let himself die a long time ago if it had been within his nature. But he just kept holding on.

_888_

Adamantium was a short length away from the thin layer of skin he now had, although, as he ran his hand down his chest, he imagined bone felt just about the same. Standing had become strenuous. He lay on the floor from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep again, and since most of his imagined days blurred into assumed evenings he found no problem in doing just that. He hadn't eaten the last tub of crap; he'd moved passed that. One day soon he'd drift off and never wake up again, the idea didn't seem like a bad one. Even hell didn't seem so bad compared to this-nothing. Not knowing or feeling. Eternity had decided to give him a small taste of what it had to offer. His life began to piece itself together, from the point he could remember of course. The things he'd done in the time he knew, made him question wanting to know about his life before that; made him fear it. He'd spent too much time with his own mind, and knowing that he was far from a saint, it wasn't a mind that held up well against scrutiny. Fingers pushed back the strands of hair that covered his forehead and he chose to ignore the senses that had served him so poorly. Hands cupped the overgrown beard that hid his jaw-line. He frowned, the sensation of touch was... different. The hands that now searched his body were soft. Soft. Fingers, slender. Voice. Voice, husky. Nothing had been this vivid.

_"Logan." _A whisper

_"Logan._ _It's over. You're safe."_

_888_

Muffled sounds of street cars nearby, chatter on the streets below. Warmth, the sun. Soft bedding. The air was clean, fresh; he drew in a long and deep breath. He tried to open his eyes, then realised he couldn't. _Where am I? _Logan tried to speak, but his words found no voice. _Either the fucks that had me decided to up the accommodation or... I wasn't dreaming._ He thought about sitting up, and tried his hardest, but found that he didn't have the strength to. He did, however, have just enough strength to reach for the bandage around his eyes but before he could pull it off, his hands were met by another. The same soft and slender fingers clasped around his hands, placing them back down at his sides. _Jesus, I didn't even hear her coming._ And it was a her; his senses weren't too far gone to determine that. She smelt good, the best thing he'd smelt in a long time.

_"You're going to have to leave the bandages on." _The same whisper. _"A doctor has examined you, and it's by his advice that you leave the bandages on, and that I whisper. Because of the sensory deprivation you were subjected to, the worst thing to do would be shock your senses by not exposing them gradually to the outside world. Before I continue I need you to promise that you won't remove that bandage without me present." _Logan hesitated, then nodded. Whoever this woman was, she clearly intended on his recovery; he had no reason not to trust her. _"You won't be able to talk for a while. Legions have formed within your larynx and coupled with the fact that you haven't spoken in some time, regaining your speech will be difficult, impossible according to the doctor, but we both know better." _He sensed her smile. _"I'm going to tell you only what you need to know for now. You're safe. We're in an apartment three floors up, so, if you suddenly decide not to trust me, don't try the balcony. My number one priority is you, and yours is getting better. After all that you've been through, it will take time to recover, since a normal man would've been long dead by now. I took care of the animals that kept you prisoner and now, I'm going to take care of you. I won't leave you. Now sleep." _A kiss to the forehead.

_888_

She was living up to her word, day after day. Every meal was a nutrient mix. _Aside from the liquid breakfast, lunch and dinner every damn day, I can't complain. _He thought. The first hurdle had been to get his arms and legs moving again. They hadn't been used for a while, but his healing factor had made quick work of his weak muscles. Within a week, he was able to get to the bathroom without her assistance. He'd never imagined having to learn how to pick up a glass, or walk for that matter. The thought made him realise that the only other time he'd done that, was at the beginning of a childhood he no longer remembered. She massaged his muscles every night and morning, just to make sure that they were kept alert. She whispered tales of her trips to the local grocer and the characters that she had gotten to know in order to take his mind off things, but she never informed him of anything news worthy, aside from the weather. _Goddamnit, I wish I could talk to her, say something, thank her. _He could feel his throat healing, but it was all kinds of pain even trying to talk.

_"So darlin', you ever plan on tellin' me yer name?" _Logan asked, though his attempt at a decent baritone resulted in little more than a whisper.

_"Sshh. You know you shouldn't be talking yet." _She replied.

_"That ain't an answer, that's a diversion."_ His grin was just as smug as his comment.

_"Keep your eyes closed." _She ordered, gently unwrapping the bandage around his eyes. They too were adjusting, and it was time to let a little more light through. He did as he was told, resisting the urge to open his eyes for just a split second to see her. _"Patience is a virtue."_ - as though she'd read his mind. She redressed his eyes, using a thinner gauze and less coverage. He opened them under the dressing, and smiled. _"I imagine you're pleased to find that your sight is returning?"_ She asked.

_"Don't get me wrong, that's a good thing to be pleased about, but... I'm more pleased to find what's sitting in my sights." _A pillow connected with him before she got up and walked away.

_888_

His nose was beginning to find it's former glory, having detected the most subtle changes in scent, including hers. It drove him wild midday, when she'd just returned from her daily errands. It was slightly musky, a cue to him that the climate was hot; and all natural. The scent was unfamiliar, but he couldn't fight the feeling that he knew her. The fact that her voice never reached higher than a few decibels didn't help, although he had to wonder if it was really for his ears or if she just enjoyed keeping him guessing.

It had been almost two weeks and by now, it was a given that Logan's healing factor had brought him very close to full health. Then why did they both continue on as if he was still a patient? Well, he knew why he did: _I don't think I've ever been more turned on by a woman I've never laid eyes on. _He thought to himself, one of the many evenings she had fallen asleep in the chair not too far away from his bed. She spent most of the evenings with him, sometimes they talked, but often she read while she thought he was asleep. Honestly, he was hardly ever asleep. It was... nice, just having someone there. _Jesus Christ, I'm turning into a woman. _He didn't know her name, her face, her voice; all he knew was the sound of a whisper, the feel of her lips accidentally brushing against his ear and hovering within and inch just there when she whispered to him; the touch that had, in his mind, single-handedly healed every wound on his body. _I know why I do it, but why does she? _He asked himself again. For her part, she had been completely at ease with him, allowing him full reign about the apartment once he had the strength to walk consistently. No one else seemed to live there aside from the two of them, which, while sitting at the kitchen table, made him wonder:

_"I gotta ask darlin', what's a woman like you, doin' here, alone?"_

_"And what kind of woman am I? Where exactly is here? And what do you mean alone?" _She joked.

_"A good one. An apartment that isn't yours. I mean, alone." _Logan said flatly.

_"I told you, I'd tell you what you needed to know, when you needed to know it."_

"Yeah, well I think now's a pretty good time fer me t' know." His voice had found its strength.

_"Logan, don't push yourself..."_

"I'm not! I've healed, we both know that, and I can take whatever it is that you don' wanna tell me." For the first time since his rescue, he'd shown his anger. "I'm through bein' in the dark."

There was a knock at the door. The two of them were silent for a moment. She left her seat and went to the door. Logan's ears perked up as he heard pieces of the conversation, which she quickly moved to the hallway. He got up slowly, and made his way, unheard, to the door. _My Arabic's a little rusty. _He thought to himself, identifying the language of the two... three men that were outside. The conversation didn't seem to be very light hearted; he could recognize a threat in any language. Even in the midst of what was very quickly escalating into an attack, he stopped to listen to her voice - he knew her voice; he'd recognize it no matter what language she spoke. Logan stepped through into the hallway, not all too bothered that he might've been dressed in a rather loud pair of 'Taz the Tasmanian Devil' boxers and a faded grey bathrobe. "There a problem here, bub?" He moved in close, though the giant he faced was a good foot or more taller than him.

"Logan, leave us." That voice again.

"What is it they want?"

"They are looking for someone who used to live here. Logan, please go back inside."

"Nah, I think I like it just fine out here." It had been too long. They were itching for a fight, every one of his... five senses were telling him that, and he felt he had to oblige.

The giant laughed. "Woman, get this blind American out of my face before I do something I won't regret." He ordered dismissively.

"She's got a name, and I'd use it with respect if I were you." Logan growled.

"Get out of my way, little man." He bent lower, coming face to face with Logan.

"Make me." He extended his claws, the trademark sound of rushing steel filling the cramped space. The gun that had come out of the giant's holster didn't have a chance to take aim. Logan caught it between his claws and flipped it out of his hands, stabbing him in the shoulder with his other set. He head-butted him and let him drop to the ground before turning to the blurry figures of the other two goons. "Try somethin'. Please." Both men shook their heads, then moved to drag off the third. He watched as they disappeared behind elevator doors, and turned just in time to see her make her way inside the apartment. "Don't approve of the way I handled things out there, darlin'?"

"That was reckless, Logan. I could've handled that on my own."

He unwrapped the bandage around his eyes.

"I know you could've, 'Ro."

_888_

Logan stared at Ororo Munroe from across the restaurant table. It was night time; he didn't need to shade his eyes. The revelation earlier on had sparked the obvious questions; she suggested dinner. The walk from the apartment block to the restaurant had told him a lot about where they were. North Africa, Cairo by his best guess; which she'd later confirmed to be right. But that had been where she'd stopped answering his questions. Logan had so many that he'd be lucky if he knew where to start. He wasn't opposed to her idea of getting a good solid meal in him, and the restaurant was nice: warm lighting, good atmosphere, a good band of Middle Eastern performers; all was right with the world so far. She'd dressed up, he liked that; a classic black dress, classy and elegant, though she wore a black wig to conceal her attention grabbing white hair, which he was still on the fence about.

"You gonna tell me the story about those three guys?" Logan finally asked, taking a swig of the cold beer he'd missed.

"Well, you already figured out the apartment wasn't mine."

"Smell gave it away." He added.

"It belonged to an old friend who found some trouble with loan sharks. She'd advised me not to take it, since she herself was going to leave it far behind, but I said it would be alright. I paid her for it. I needed to move without being seen while I looked for you, and checking into a hotel would've been like putting up a neon sign." She explained. "I still didn't know who had you, or where exactly you were, so I had to do things the old fashioned way; find contacts, people who owed me favors, keep low key."

"Cloak and dagger stuff?" He smiled.

"Yes, cloak and dagger stuff." She returned the smile.

"So, why you? Where's the rest of the team?" He asked.

"Medium, to rare, more on the rare." The waiter interrupted, setting down the steak that Logan had ordered. "And the fish of the day for the lady. Enjoy." And with the exchange of a few more pleasantries, he was gone.

"Logan." She paused a moment, finding the words. "This is what I wanted to avoid telling you, even though I know that it is impossible. One day, you just vanished. It's not as if you've never done it before. Days turned into weeks, weeks months, and even though there was no reason to assume you were in danger, I just did not feel comfortable. There was no ransom note, no communication from anyone to say that you had been abducted, it's just..." She drew a deep breath. "I felt that, with the way things were between us, that, you had a reason to stay." Ororo's eyes didn't meet his. "I sought you out, and it was no easy task. The others believed that is was futile, and unnecessary but I kept on searching until I found you."

He nodded his head slowly, cutting into his steak. "And where exactly did you find me?" He paid more attention to the steak than he needed to.

"A bunker, outside Cairo. It didn't appear to be military, in fact it seemed made for your purposes, and your purposes alone. There were two guards, and the only thing they were guarding, was you. The prison they kept you in was solid concrete, thick, but exactly how thick I couldn't tell you." She waited for him to look at her. "Logan, I can't imagine what it must've been like for you to spend that time..."

"How long was I down there?" He cut her off.

She paused. "21 months." She said sternly, realising that he wasn't in the mood for a heart to heart.

He took another swig of beer and cut away at his steak. "Any idea how they kept me down there, kept me weak?"

"The doctor who examined you when I got you out of there, said that it was starvation." She began. "I told him that you had a faster rate of healing, a faster metabolic rate, and he told me that regardless of those facts, you could still starve and dehydrate like the rest of us, and it was that that would hinder your healing factor and cause you to loose your strength. Your weakened immune system allowed the legions in your throat to form, as well as the sores on your body. Apparently, you're only as mortal as what you eat." She smiled, gesturing down to his steak.

"I wanna find the son'sabitches who did this to me."

She nodded. "First, we need to get you back to the Institute, after that, happy hunting. Being locked away... it's over. Now it's time for you to begin."

"'Ro." He caught her blue eyes with his own. "Thanks fer..."

"You're welcome, Logan." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"And 'Ro?"

"Yes, Logan?"

"Get rid o' that wig."

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


	2. Home is where the heart is

_**It's Over. Now it's time to begin.**_

Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.

* * *

Logan woke up. His cheek pressed against the warm, soft pillow that he'd slept on. The sun filtered through the small window, its rays gently teasing his skin. He'd been in a deep sleep, he registered that much. But the fact that the entire first class, aside from him, had already left, was worrying. Why hadn't he woken to the sounds of them passing; chattering and laughing? Why hadn't he felt the plane's decent? Even while asleep, these were senses his body reacted to. He rubbed his eyes and stretched. First class had been Ororo's idea, and he had to admit that it was a good one. She wanted him to be spoilt, after having spent so long, caged like an animal. That had been her reasoning for a lot of things lately: the stop over in Paris which turned out to be a week-long stay; breakfast in bed; her in bed; breakfast on her in bed. He began to think back to...

"Excuse me, sir." The flight attendant behind him said. "I think it might be a good idea for you to exit the plane; unless you're planning on accompanying us to Cairo?" She smiled.

_888_

_"I have a question." Ororo said, setting down her wine glass and moving to a comfortable position on the bistro's couch. Cuban music played over the speakers. Low lighting, amazing food, and happy people; enough said._

_"Fire away, darlin'." He flipped open his Zippo; lit his cigar._

_She rested her cheek on her palm and smiled. "Do you actually like cigars?"_

_He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" Her smile was met by his own_.

_"Well, what is the attraction?"_

_Logan paused a moment. "I've had cigars ever since I can remember. The taste ain't half bad. It's no burger and fries, but it's a great follow-up." Just as he finished, a waiter set their plates on the low table in front of them, and offered to replenish their beverages. They'd been eating out often; hotels called for that. "'Sides, this way I've always got somethin' to keep my mouth busy."_

_"I can think of other ways to do just that."_

_"Careful 'Ro, or I might think you're hittin' on me."_

_"Why? Conversation is a great way to keep your mouth busy." She grinned. Ambiguous? Not from where he was sitting._

_"I have a question." He said._

_"Fire away, darlin'." Hearing her mimic him was amusing; he sidelined a smile._

_"Why do you play at bein' cold as ice, an' let the world believe it?"_

_"Because," and she seemed not at all taken aback, "I give the world what they want. No one wants to see what's really there; experience tells me that it frightens them, pushing them away instead of bringing them closer."_

_"What experience?"_

_"You. I let my guard down with you more than once, when I thought we were getting closer. Every time I did, you'd move away and we'd settle into an odd pattern of hardly speaking to or seeing, each other." She paid close attention to her bracelet as he looked at her. There had been a few minutes of silence after that. "I have a question for you." He nodded this time. "Why do you hold back now, when I know that you want me? It doesn't quite seem in your character."_

_888_

The institute was a sight he'd missed. He wondered at how he'd react to all the old faces. Logan was suddenly immersed with feelings of anger. Why hadn't the rest of the X-men come looking for him? He remembered Ororo's explanation but he still felt as though they should've at least bothered. He knew it was unreasonable; he'd often left for the wild yonder and 'forgotten' to let the others know. Was resentment an option? No, of course not, but it was an emotion.

"Right here's fine." He told the cab driver, the wheels crunching atop the gravel road as the car came to a stop. He didn't have much, a large rucksack with a few items of clothing. "How much do I owe ya?" He settled the price, and stepped out onto familiar ground. His eyes stayed glued to the mansion, day almost completing its transition to night, as the cab drove off.

_888_

_"Don't, laugh," she said seriously, looking at him behind her from the corner of her eye but only catching glimpses of his hair. He lay partly on top of her; one arm following the curve of her own as it lay on the pillow, the other reaching around and finding a resting place for his hand, between her thighs. He laughed as he kissed her shoulder. "You have no right to."_

_"I'm sorry sweetheart, but you sound like a Hallmark card." He relished the feel of her skin against his. The last few days had been spent with a new person, Logan felt. It was as though she had stopped giving the world what it wanted of her, and stopped showing him what he thought he knew. Every caramel pore oozed sex; every look, every gesture screamed for contact. He knew she was sensual, but this was truly different._

_"Why? Because I speak of love?" She said playfully._

_They managed to catch the end of a movie; the title had something to do with a notebook, but he couldn't be bothered to pay attention. He shrugged. "Well, ya. Anythin' anybody says about it, makes it sound like somethin' from a romance novel."_

_With a naughty grin: "Familiar with them then? You must be to know what one sounds like." He jokingly bit at the curve of her derriere. "Actions speak louder than words, and yet it's words we put on display, more often than actions. Love is protecting someone you care about; love is making someone feel special when they don't." She sensed his thoughts drift. "Love is hearing you growl while you're inside me, love is appreciating the bruises I get after a night with you," Ororo moved, and straddled him, "it lets me know that I had of all you; the sensitive and the strong. Love is..." She left it open._

_He shook his head and smiled, knowing that she expected an answer. "... finally knowin' what sex with a goddess feels like."_

_"Smooth." She leant down and brushed her lips against his. "Love is a kiss. Love is accurate when used to describe a hundred different things. Love is accurate when used to describe one. Love is an emotion; love is a thought. Love, is just a word."_

_"Love is just a word?" He repeated._

_"Love is just a word."_

_"Then I'm tired of talkin'."_

_888_

Logan had decided not to try the front door. He made his way around the mansion, taking a route he knew well. There were a few points in his imprisonment where he'd honestly felt that he would never again see the institute and the people in it. The entire scene was almost surreal to him. It had gotten to a point where he'd be happy to have Cyke be the first face he saw. His eyes drew in the scenery, focusing quickly on Ororo's greenhouse. He followed with his eyes, and peered in to find dead or dying plants in place of the "thriving tribute to the goddess", as she called it. He wondered why she hadn't appointed someone, one of the students, to tend to it. The greenhouse had always been a symbol of her skill and pride, and she usually ensured its care, even in the midst of more difficult times. Even when she forgot to ask, someone would water the plants; the bare minimum, when she was gone.

He shook it off and shot up the stairs to the veranda, cynically laughing once he'd reached the top and faced his reflection in the glass doors. _Jesus, Creed could take you down with one swipe._ He thought, referring to his relatively skinny appearance. He'd put some fat back onto his previously skeletal frame, but there hadn't been a chance for him to bulk up; and with the week in Paris, he'd worked away more than he'd eaten. First order of business was the gym and the danger room; he needed to get himself looking half way decent again. _Maybe the hair first._ He'd been content to just tie up the past-shoulder length mane that'd grown in his time away. _'Ro must not've had a fun time gettin' me clean after she found me. _He ran a hand over his hair.

_888_

_"Bad news." Ororo said, striding into the hotel room. "I can't come back with you."_

_"What do ya mean?" He zipped up his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder._

_She handed him his ticket. "There's a mission; east."_

_"It's been a while but it's like ridin' a bike."_

_A moment. "Logan, you're not coming with me." She said, realizing what he'd meant. "I won't allow it. Get back to the mansion, find your feet. If the mission requires another team member, I'll let the professor know."_

_"So," he began, watching her collect her bags, "what _is_ the mission?"_

_"Reconnaissance. It's standard in and out." He lifted a brow, showing his reluctance at having her go. "Logan, are you forgetting that my stealth is arguably better than yours?"_

_"I'm in an arguin' mood."_

_"Careful." She said softly. "I will be back in New York soon."_

_Before she could walk away he spun her around and pulled her in for a kiss. It betrayed everything that he could hope to conceal; hot, lingering, desperate. It might've been a kiss one would give a first love, or a love's last kiss. "I'll be waitin'."_

_She smiled._

_888_

Fridge.

Brewski.

He looked at the photos on the fridge door; marveling at how much he'd missed out on. There were familiar faces there, though they too had changed. He didn't recognize too many of the kids, although it was usually the newer ones that made it to the fridge, the others were put up in the rec room. He found a picture of Xavier: he seemed to have aged beyond his years. A picture of Ororo: shaven hair suited her, but he was glad it had grown back. Though everyone was smiling in the photos, he questioned the sincerity behind the happy faces. Unless his instincts had gone to hell, he was sure those were strained poses.

Logan moved on when he discovered they were out of beer, he'd have to do something about that once he got comfortable. He entered the main corridor downstairs, peering into empty class rooms. _Ain't much of a homecomin'. _He thought. The rec room was his next stop, and he found that he wasn't alone. Curled up on the far couch, was Ororo's sleeping figure. Was the mission a lie? Maybe it was all a rouse to get him to come home alone. But why? Regardless, he couldn't complain about having found her. He crept up slowly, and suppressed the urge to grin like an idiot as she twitched in her sleep. He had to blink twice once he saw her hair, or the lack of it: shaven to little more than a military number cut. He moved back the small blanket that covered her so that he could see her face more clearly.

_"Logan."_ She whispered. _"No."_

"Ssshh." He stroked her face gently.

_"No."_

"Relax darlin', it's just a dream." The change in weather caught his eye and the single, large window began to shake violently.

_"No, Logan. Don't..."_

He shook her softly, finding that disturbing her sleep was less dangerous than a full blown storm hitting the mansion. She was groggy at first, but finally her milky, blue eyes found his own grey ones before the transformation completed. There was a sudden look of horror in her eyes. "I was gettin' worried for a minute there. You okay?" She said nothing. He moved closer, and held her chin. "I missed ya, Windrider. Well, I don't quite know what I'd call it but, hey, love is just a word right?" He moved to kiss her, not expecting the strong fist that hit his jaw. Logan fell to one side.

"What the hell was that for?" He growled, adjusting his jaw as he stood. Ororo moved from the couch, standing tall and regal. The window behind him shook and finally shattered, large shards of glass shot straight into his back, forcing a cry of pain from him. The air chilled as it raced through the room. "'Ro!" He shouted. In one smooth motion, she leapt at Logan, using her abilites to carry him from the mansion and drop him onto the stone steps that would make the front of the building.

"You _dare_." She said, voice more stern and cold than he'd ever known. "You _dare_ to return." The sky was charged. The winds, furious. Her anger more so. A bolt of lightning descended from the heavens, shattering the stone and causing Logan to roll back instinctively, hitting the remaining steps before the gravel. "I swore to myself that if this day would come, I would show no mercy. And I keep my word." Another strike, sending the pebbles before him high into the air.

He was on his feet, low, defensive. "What the hell has gotten into you?" She looked like his goddess, acted like her, smelt every bit the woman he knew and... Another strike! He jumped clear, singed. "Just stop goddamnit and tell me what's happening!"

Her eyes were white, and more. They began to glow, electricity sparking from the corners. "Retribution." Her hands took a cue, balls of lightning welling up within them. She flew forward, a lightning fist connecting with his jaw, another to his stomach and a final uppercut to throw him backwards. He struggled to focus his eyes; it had been too long, and he was still nowhere near his former strength. The sky boomed with the sound of thunder, tore with lightning.

"It has been two years since you left." Ororo brought her hands together as though to pray.

"Two years since you restrained me, choked me, and beat me to near unconsciousness." Fingers intertwined, she slowly lifted her hands, white with light.

"Two years since you raped me, and broke me." Lightning shot down, a display almost too beautiful to be of mortal man. Her body seemed a lightning rod, channeling the raw power and charging it. A weapon of the gods, wielded by one. White light lit the dark night, and angel of death now walked the earth.

"Do you remember your last words to me, before you discarded me like dirt beneath your feet?" She asked, though an answer was not what she wanted. _"Love is just a word."_ - Like venom from her lips. "I would give you last words, but an animal such as you, deserves none."

The next events played in a slow and excruciating motion and lightning struck him. Logan's body seared with a pain no fire he'd ever braved had left him passed out in the next seconds, but not before catching glimpse of Xavier, arm outstretched to Ororo, desperate to stop her.

* * *

_To be continued I believe. I hope you enjoyed, and please feel free to review._


	3. Introductions are in order

_**It's Over. Now it's time to begin.**_

Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.

_A/n: Thank you very much for the reviews (yes ladies and gents, I can now use an 's' to pluralize that word. Yeehaa!)_

_Dear reader, I give you, chapter three..._

* * *

Morning. No, later. Sun streamed in through the french doors casting a shadow across the bed that Logan lay in. He opened his eyes, shut them again immediately after. He'd managed to sprawl himself out across the purple bed sheets, stomach down, face buried in a pillow. A fluffy pillow. He hated fluffy pillows, but the scent of these would make them an exception. The sound of running water, shower water. His eyes snapped open and he looked around the room, Ororo's room. He sat up. The plants resting on the long shelving units on the walls of the room had just been watered, fine mist still hung over them. His ears picked up the laughter of students down below on the mansion grounds, a bit of foot traffic a floor below. Ororo walked out of the bathroom, lazily drying her long locks with a towel and comfortable in her naked beauty. "So you finally decided to wake." She smiled, heading to her dressing table. "I'm quite amazed you slept through my arrival, but I thought it might be best." Words escaped him as he watched her slowly comb through her hair, the gentle curve of her back glistening with beads of water. "You disapproved of my departure in Paris and now you don't seem too ecstatic about my return." She said to his reflection in the mirror. "Although you made sure to use my bedroom while I was away. Just remember, this is no hotel, _you'll_ be doing the next laundry." A mocking brow lifted. Logan remained silent, motionless. "Logan, what is the matter?"

By the time she'd turned, he was behind her, and brought her into a kiss. It was soft, gentle, but he held her so tightly she had to flex to signal for her release. "'Ro." He held her head between his hands, looking into her eyes. Searching. Though for what, he did not know. He pulled her in again, smelling her wet hair, nuzzling into her neck and letting his hands move over her. "I..." Her lips were still pink from the kiss; he kissed her again.

"Logan." Never had she seen him so lost. A man lost, searching for answers to questions she did not know. Her first impulse had been to joke about the amount of affection she had received "_Too little too late."_ was the line she'd thought to give him, but now she knew he was serious. Something was wrong. She hugged him, as tightly as he had her, or as near to it as she could come. "Logan, what's wrong?"

"I... I don't know." He whispered. "I don't know."

888

Professor Xavier observed the man in front of him. Until earlier, he was unaware that Logan had come home. Ororo had mentioned it upon her own return, asking if he was happy to have Logan back. There had been a bit of confusion as to why he had not announced himself, but it had been decided that Logan tended to have his own way of going about things, and perhaps a big welcoming was not what he desired. The clock ticked loudly in his office as he thought on all he had been told by both Logan and Ororo. The pleasantries had been quickly dispensed with by the Wolverine before he'd gone straight into the strange experience he'd had. A homecoming quite different to the present one. This could quite easily have been dismissed as a dream, if not for Logan's senses. Xavier knew about Logan's dreams, had helped him through some of them, but after having dipped into his mind and extracted the events just passed, he was aware that this was more than a dream. He'd explained to the pair, that the sensation of dreams and memory were perceived as two separate and distinct forces by him. There was no mistaking the facts, Logan's mind had revealed a recent memory. He looked to Ororo, finding himself unable to imagine such intense rage directed at a man she'd spent the better part of a year searching to find.

"I honestly don't know, Logan." He said finally.

Logan sighed, pursing his lips. "I gotta say Chuck, that's the one line I was prayin' you wouldn't spit out." He ran a hand through his hair. "And I ain't a prayin' man."

"Henry needs to have a look at you. Some two years in that kind of confinement would have lethal effects on anyone else, but maybe, it has but left a mark with you."

"I ain't crazy." Logan said quickly.

Professor Xavier nodded. "I am not disputing that, but maybe there is more at play here, and until we do further testing, we will not know. I believe Henry is in his lab at the moment, I'm sure he won't mind performing the medical exam now." With that, Logan stood. "Logan, I am sorry for your suffering, but I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you back with us." A warm smile crossed Xavier's face as he extended his hand.

"Thanks, Chuck." He responded. "You comin' darlin'?" Logan asked Ororo, who'd been sitting to the lounge on his right.

"I must report my findings of my mission to the professor." She stood as he did and kissed him goodbye. "We'll find answers Logan." He kissed her again and left, making his way to the lower levels. Ororo turned to the professor, her face displaying the worry she'd masked well earlier. "Professor..."

"Truly, Ororo, I don't know." He said, assuring her that he was not hiding anything.

Logan had greeted a few familiar faces on the way down, Betsy, Bobby, even Peter. It seemed by now everyone knew the circumstances of his disappearance, and although he could see that they wanted to ask him, no one did. He was glad to receive the required 'welcome homes'. His self-imposed exiles and hiatus' from the team were different, they were by his choice and in far better settings. His recent capture had made him realize how much he enjoyed the buzz of life in the walls of the Xavier Institute. It used to symbolize a kind of imprisonment, now it symbolized his freedom. Hank's welcome had been a great one, immediately embracing his friend in a bear hug and lifting him from the ground. Behind black framed spectacles and inundated with notes and papers, the blue man had smiled from ear to ear when Logan had come through the door.

"No interruption at all, Logan. These papers have been here for some time, they can wait a little longer." He said, patting Logan on the back as he led him out and into the infirmary.

Logan lay back on the infirmary bed, wearing only his boxer briefs. "This gonna take long?" He wanted answers, but that didn't stop him from still hating the hospital-like setting.

"Not with these new instruments, no." Henry McCoy looked like a kid in a candy store as he switched on the device in his hand, entering some information into it. "We'll have you out of here in no time old friend. Just lie back and relax."

888

Logan looked up at the white ceiling and moved, or rather, tried to. His forearms and hands were encased inside what could only be some kind of fortified shackles. His lower legs and feet received the same treatment. He looked to the left and right of him, he was still in the infirmary. It was dark, emergency lights on, and his own bed light. Looking down, he saw the pensive face of Charles Xavier, fingertips touching, elbows rested on his Shi'ar modified chair. This was the Charles Xavier he remembered seeing on the refrigerator door. Things had changed again. He put his head back down. "Hey Chuck."

"Logan." Charles said simply. "I'm glad you're still with us."

"Depends what ya mean by that." Logan muttered. His skin was healing well, the last he could remember of this, setting, was being burnt alive by one rather fucked off Ororo Munroe. "What happened out there?"

"I believe you almost died. I had to use an extremely powerful telepathic attack to disable Storm. We brought you here." The professor closed his eyes. "Logan, I need for you to explain yourself to me. It's been almost two years that no one has seen or heard from you, since the, incident, that transpired between you and Ororo and frankly many would be more comfortable to have you elsewhere. Why have you returned?"

Logan shook his head, still unable to piece together what was happening. "Tha' wasn't me. I didn't... I'd die before I'd let somethin' like that happen ta 'Ro. I'd kill myself before even thinkin' about doing it."

"Logan..."

"It's the truth goddamnit!" He growled, trying to free himself of his shackles, to no avail. "Something's happening t' me. I don't know what, an' neither do you." He said. "Not you you, but... never mind." Logan looked down again, the professor trying to make sense of what he'd said. "Go on, Chuck, look inside my noodle. If what ya said is true, then you should be able to tell that I'm not lying. You can tell what my thoughts are, what my dreams are, and what my memories are. You'll know if I'm bullshittin' ya."

Xavier moved to his side, puzzled at his knowledge of his ability. He didn't recall having ever told him. "I will only skim the surface to find what I need. You have my word."

"Ya can have a field day up there Chuck."

Logan didn't like telepathy, something about being able to see into someone's mind, control it, it just didn't sit right. But it had it's use, since in a world where most words were lies and most people deceptive, it worked to draw the line between true and false. Xavier lived the past 21 months of Logan's life through Logan's eyes in little more than an instant. Even still, Logan began to tell the story. He worked his way through it, just as he had before. He could see the face of doubt, turn into one of understanding, of thought, and finally of confusion. "Henry drove back from the city to perform your medical examination and found nothing out of the ordinary." Xavier said. He entered a code to the shackle on Logan's arm, releasing all four simultaneously. "I honestly don't know, Logan."

"I thought ya might say that." Logan let out. He rolled his joints, relishing their freedom.

"Please, remain here until this evening. I would like some time to prepare everyone and to inform them of the situation, in particular Ororo." Xavier said. "You must understand Logan, that while life essentially came to a halt for you, we continued on. Many things have happened here and regardless of whatever is transpiring at present, you are still known as the man who tore this family apart and sowed seeds of distrust so deep, I believe the institute is still poisoned from it." He lay a hand on his shoulder. "Rest, and I will return later."

888

The X-men sat silently in the war room, processing the information that Professor Xavier had given them all. Jean and Scott sat much the same - in disbelief. Hank stood against the wall, arms crossed, Warren sat observing his clasped hands. Rogue was biting her lip, deep in thought as Kurt's tale whipped casually beside her. When Ororo had been found bloodied on the danger room floor by Warren all that time ago, it was more than obvious that it was no program error. He'd passed Logan in the lower levels just prior to that, and gotten a usual Logan greeting. Not a hint of anything out of the ordinary. After they'd realised what had happened, there was not a trace of the wild man. Not that he'd be one to pack more than a toothbrush, if that, but it seemed as though Logan had just strolled out of the mansion never to return, taking nothing with him. Trust had become an issue for everyone after that. That someone so loyal and inherently good, despite his many, many flaws, would do something so heinous to a woman who many believed, he loved and respected above all others, was something even the professor failed to surmise.

Doors slid open, and Logan entered. The entire team jumped, subconsciously moving in preparation to defend, or attack, yet halting at the mental order to stand down that they all received from Xavier. A ghost, or a devil, might've triggered the same response.

"Yeah, I know. Public enemy number one." He said.

"I called the team together," The professor began, "to explain the situation, and to reintroduce you, Logan."

"Reintroduce him! Professor, you can't be serious!" Scott shouted, getting to his feet.

"All of you. Whatever the transgressions of, _that_ Logan, he cannot be blamed." Xavier said, gesturing to Logan. "I can tell you all, with no doubt or uncertainty, that this man is the Logan that we hated," He looked to Scott, "or loved," then to Jean, " for all those years. He is not the intruder who shook this family."

Warren stood also. "Charles, what if this is a trick, some kind of shapeshifter? You can't just give him free reign."

The professor looked at him with an expression of bewilderment. "My abilities, Warren; which I may not use to such a display as yours, but which, may I remind you, have no mutant equal, have made sure to eliminate any possibility of that." He now surveyed the room. "Over and above that however, do you truly believe I would allow that? After all that we have suffered? You are all the closest thing I have to sons and daughters and..." A brief moment hit him, one filled with pain, "and I will not fail you, as I once did. Consider it a father's word."

The doors slid open again. Ororo did not enter. Everyone felt the tension that hit the room like a ten ton of bricks. Logan could see her contemplating to leave or to remain. "'Ro..."

She raised her hand to silence him. "Please, never call me that. Never again." It took some time, but, "Logan, could you please come with me. I wish to speak with you in private." He followed her without question as she led him to the elevator. Again, her hand raised as he attempted to join her in the lift. "I would prefer if we rode separately. I will wait for you on the ground floor." He did as he was told, hating that he had to act like a guilty party, even though the only thing he was guilty of was getting himself imprisoned. Anything might set her off, any word or move. And as unreal as everything in his life was at that point, he understood that it had been equally real, too real, for Ororo. The only person he wanted to be with, to talk to, was her; as though somehow she was the key to unlocking this. He arrived at the ground floor, following her again as she subtly gestured outside. They passed a small group in the lounge room, both ignoring the instant silence as they did. Through the kitchen they went, and out to the garden in front of her greenhouse, alone, yet still in view.

"I'm sorry, fer what I didn't do." He said, softly. Watching her - a gaunt frame when to his mind, he'd held her full and curved body only hours earlier. A fuzz of white hair, creating a sort of halo effect. She'd lost none of her beauty, yet this was a beauty bathed in sadness.

"The professor told me about your exchange." She paced now, arms folded, a complete opposite to the night before. "He told me." More to herself. She turned then to look at him. She regarded him in silence, and seconds became minutes.

Logan wondered if she was waiting for something. Waiting for him to Jekyll and Hyde before her eyes? Waiting for him to explain it all? Well, neither would happen. "You saved me, Windrider." He started. "In that world, in that reality, ya saved me. You were the only one who came fer me. Ya felt it in your gut, that I was in trouble, an' ya came fer me. I mean I know that you ain't one fer small spaces, and I _am _puttin' that mildly... but neither am I." He shot her a half-hearted side grin. "Crazy, eh? See, while shit was goin' down here, someone hogtied me and dragged me off t' Cairo. Fuck knows why... And while you've been workin' through whatever that scumbag did to ya, I spent the same amount o' time locked up in a hole so deep an' dark that I can't even believe ya found me. Almost two years in the dark. If you'd have listened t' everybody else an' not searched, not listened t' yer instincts... I'd have spent the long years o' my life a livin' corpse, in a concrete coffin."

Her eyes betrayed her. "Except I didn't search. I told Charles not to use Cerebro!" She pushed him hard. "I made Remy swear not to hunt you down!" Again. The sky darkened, clouds forming overhead. "What could we have done?"

"That wasn't me."

"Arrested you?" She pushed him harder, using her control over the winds to add force. "Taken you to the authorities?"

"That wasn't me, darlin'."

"No court would try you, no prison could hold you." Rain fell from above. "Non-mutants don't want us in their world. They could care less what happens to our kind."

He grabbed her wrists as she pushed again. "When I woke up this mornin' I was lyin' in yer bed, breathin' in yer scent. I watched ya dry your hair," He released her wrist and stroked her head with his free hand, "I heard ya laugh, felt ya against me. In that world I'm a hero, in this one, your demon. But in both worlds, you're only one thing t' me."

"Let go of me!" She cried... and even under cover of rain... she cried.

"I can't!" He shouted, freeing her wrists and pulling her to him. One arm encircling her waist, the other on the back of her neck. He didn't know what or who was real anymore. His senses had once been his only true way of knowing, and now even they were questionable. Thunder sounded as she screamed out, fists listlessly hitting his back.

Ororo felt her strength leaving her. She was tired, so tired. Long years had taken the fight from her. Time spent recovering, in more ways than one. First came denial; a mutant of her abilities, but more so a woman such as herself, would not or should not have let such a thing happen to her. Did that mean that she'd wanted it? Had a part of her wanted the violation that she'd received? Even as the professor counseled her, prompted her to share her thoughts and emotions, she had not spoken of that. She and Logan had shared intimate moments in the months before, she once believed something more might come of it. She had retreated, more than her calm self, now an empty shell of what once was. To know that Logan, her Logan, had confessed to the professor that he would take his own life before committing such a crime against her. She'd thought that she would be forever repulsed by his touch, his face, even the mention of his name. "Let go of me!" She tried to shout between her sobs, her knees buckling. The Wolverine. _He_ was back, and though this might've been her weakest moment; if only for now, she felt safe with him in it. Logan guided her down, still wrapped around her. And there they were, a tangle of limbs, soaked with rain; the only figures caught in the storm. She repeated her words, though they were now little more than a whisper. "_Let go of me."_

" _I can't." _

* * *

_To be continued I believe. As always, please feel free to review..._


	4. Wolverine vs

_**It's Over. Now it's time to begin.**_

Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.

_A/n:_ _I'd really appreciate some feedback on the story, in particular because I know the premise is a confusing one. For now, it's meant to be. I'd just like to know if it's still coherent enough for everyone to hang onto because the next chapter is gonna be a rollercoaster ride_

* * *

Ororo turned to the next page of her novel. Her legs dangled over the arm of the chair she occupied in the infirmary. Logan had passed out during his medical exam. Henry had been unable to wake him, the professor unable to reach him. His vital signs had all checked out and he was indeed in perfect condition. She closed the book and looked at the cover: Into the Wild. The copy had been in the rec room and she'd taken it, along with a cup of chamomile tea, down to where she now sat. Until a few months ago, she'd never been able to imagine Logan needing any kind of care. He was always the epitome of strength within the X-men, never one to be kept down. But, he was human, they all were, regardless of how people chose to nitpick at the definition. His breathing changed and she looked up, his eyes slowly opening.

"What the...?" He said groggily. Looking around, he seemed to relax when his eyes set upon her. "'Ro?"

She smiled. "Yes, Logan. I am here." Though she'd never said it, she did enjoy the baritone sound of her shortened name that he almost always used. "You know, if you wish for my company, you need only ask. These dramatics are totally unnecessary."

"An' where's the fun in that?" He rubbed his eyes and stretched out. "How long have I been out?"

"A number of hours. Just after your medical exam." She explained, bringing her chair closer to him.

He shook his head. "It changed again." Logan said simply.

Ororo was surprised at this. "You haven't left us. You've been here the whole time." Though she didn't want it, for a moment there was a doubt. "Are you sure? Maybe this time, it was a dream." He shook his head in response. "I think," Ororo said getting up and nudging him to move over, "I think that you might need to get away from the mansion. This started upon your return."

"Ya think it has somethin' t' do with it?" He let her in, draping the sheet over her and resting his head on her chest. "But it ain't effecting anyone else."

She silently agreed, adjusting to allow his arms around her waist. A mocha hand trailed lightly along his exposed shoulder, another played with the strands of his long hair. "No, but that doesn't make it impossible." Maybe it was the mansion, so many people and memories hitting him after what he'd been through. Maybe he just wasn't ready to be back. Again, she tried to push the thoughts from her mind. The X-men had been subject to more crazy events, this might've hit the charts at number 32 or so. What was happening to him was real. Wasn't it? "Do you remember Montana, four years ago?"

Logan's body shook, followed by a laugh so loud it startled her. "Fuck yeah, I remember Montana." She slapped him on the head, and he buried himself in her chest a little more, to cower from the next. "Come on darlin', that was hilarious." He laughed again.

"For you, maybe." She said indignantly. "I was mortified." There was no doubt as to which incident they spoke of. "Ya need ta get away from here 'Ro. We both do. Come on' darlin', my treat." She mimicked his voice and manner horribly, making Logan laugh harder for it. "Some treat!"

"Yer terrible at accents darlin'." His chest rumbled as he spoke. "Hey, once we hit the park, it was gravy, but how the hell am I supposed t' know you need supervision while shoppin' for supplies."

She rolled her eyes. "Now you're exaggerating."

"A fire extinguisher 'Ro. A goddamn fire extinguisher. Ya don' need to be a rocket scientist ta use one."

"The store owner admitted that it was probably faulty, did he not? I was just looking at it, it wasn't my fault the thing went off in the store. I was under attack!" She argued, starting to smile. "And yes, I did not know how to work the thing, but the thought never crossed my mind to learn. I find I am far more effective in stopping fires with out it."

"Ya damn well could've started one at the rate you were goin', knocking things off shelves and bouncin' around."

She laughed now. "Screaming: my eyes, my eyes. Not my most graceful moment I'll admit." Still chuckling: "Anyway, the point I was trying to make before I was so rudely interrupted, was that the camping trip helped me. Just being away from here for even a night might help to make sense of things. See through a new set of eyes... like I did after they were burnt to hell and back."

"I hear ya." He kissed her stomach. "Ya gotta promise me one thing though." She hummed a response. "Never sub for the fire-safety course." He ducked again, unable to avoid the slap he knew he would receive.

888

"Okay, okay, okay! I've got one!" Jubilee called out, hands raised, amidst the chaos of voices. "Johnny Storm against Carnage." Again voices in the rec room raised. She and Kitty, along with Bobby and a few other students, had gone into their 'what if' battles. Such talk tended to come about when they were bored, and sparked endless debate that would often continue days after.

"Are you kidding me? Johnny would fry him in a second." Bobby said, completely dismissive about the pair up.

"Carnage wouldn't sit still long enough for that to happen." Said Alex, a newer addition to the institute.

Kitty shook a finger. "Come on, if Johnny went supernova, he wouldn't stand a chance." Curled up on the couch, she'd been flicking through channels as they spoke, resting on no show in particular. "Besides, I give Johnny Storm extra points just for being delicious." She added.

"I'm gonna second that." Jubilee said matter-of-factly.

Bobby folded his arms, watching the nature program of... big cats it seemed."Nah, I'd kill to see Juggernaut versus the Hulk. Can you imagine that?"

"Now that would be sweet." Alex agreed, sitting on the floor with his back rested against the couch. "Great choice." He moved his arm back to beckon the five that Bobby gave.

Jubilee rolled her eyes as she heard the smacking sound. "Destruction, destruction, destruction. Big, dumb oxes pushing their weight around. Where's the cunning in that?" Her head was propped up by one of the sofa cushions as she lay stretched out on the floor.

"Hey, Hulk's a genius." Bobby shot.

"No, Bruce Banner's a genius. That's different." Jubilee countered.

"And he's hot." Kitty made sure to add.

Alex shook his head. "Do you girls think of anything else?"

"Yes, but we're not blind. Besides, you guys are a lot worse." Kitty said, staring down at Alex. "You're like a Round-Up ride at a carnival whenever you're around women."

"Yeah right. I'm convinced chicks are ten times worse, they just don't get caught." Bobby scoffed.

"And there's the cunning." Jubilee grabbed the remote control from it's perch on the sofa arm above her, and began channel surfing.

"T and A aren't all we think about. Contrary to popular belief, men do actually think with their big heads." Said Alex.

It was Kitty's turn to roll her eyes. "Please, you're gonna tell me that if a smoking hot woman walked into the room right now, you wouldn't have a look at her jugs first?" She asked as she looked to Bobby.

"Good afternoon everybody." Ororo greeted. All heads turned to the left. "Everything alright?"

"No." Alex said.

Ororo's brow furrowed. "Really? What's the matter, Alex?"

"I mean no, I wouldn't." He blurted out.

"Wouldn't what?" She asked, not quite able to make sense of what he was talking about.

"Awkward." Jubilee said under her breath.

Realizing that probing deeper would be a waste of time: "Has anybody seen Mr. Summers?"

"No Ms. Munroe." Alex, still seemingly frozen in place.

Ororo smiled, clearly confused at his manner. "Alright. Thank you anyway." She made her way down the corridor, unaware of the chuckles that she was leaving behind in the rec room. She'd been helping to compile test papers with the biology teacher, accidentally letting the time run away from her. She'd almost completely forgotten about the briefing that they had arranged. If he was not in any of the rooms she might usually find him, she figured he was probably outside supervising. A number of weeks ago, in one of Alex's first tutored lessons, he'd been unable to fully control his ability, blasting out a large section of the west wing. The area was used especially for the purposes of new mutants with little to no control of their abilities. Luckily, Jean had responded quickly to the situation, directing the power of his psionic blast and protecting them from harm. Recently they'd brought in professionals to rebuild the lower part of the wing. But it was always a slightly tense time, having contractors about the institute. Though the lead contractor had known the professor for years, having his teams change meant that there would always be someone new to stare and ogle at what Ororo once heard them describe as: a freak-show more than a school. The students had enough issues to deal with without Joe-public treating them in such a way.

Sure enough, Scott was outside, red sunglasses reflecting and making him unmistakable. The builders where about to finish up, voicing their thanks to a large and shining silver Colossus as he hauled the final set of bricks to their place, ready to be used the next day. Leonard, the contractor, had offered him a job after seeing him on the mansion grounds one day in his steel form, swinging a few of the younger students. Neither Scott, nor Xavier had objected, primarily because having Peter on site with the builders meant he might get wind if anything wasn't above board. Besides, a little extra money wouldn't be bad for him. "You forgot the meeting." Scott said as she walked over to him.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just got so caught up with work."

He grinned. "Don't worry about it 'Ro. The files will still be there in the morning."

"You don't want to get to them now?" She watched as the builders said their goodbyes to each other.

"Nah. Jean and I have a date in an hour, I don't want to cancel it or rush the briefing. So... you have the rest of the night to relax." Scott said, placing his hands on each of her shoulders. "I've been meaning to say: good work with Logan. We lost a member of our team and you brought him back. Even if I can't stand the guy, he's still one of us." He kissed her forehead. "I hope he makes you happy."

"Thank you Scott." She looked over his shoulder, catching sight of Logan walking away with the builders. "Did you rope him into working as well?" She asked her tall friend.

Scott turned. "Who?"

"Logan." Even from behind, she could tell it was him by his manner. "Excuse me." She and Scott parted ways and she headed over to her wild man, calling for him to stop. "Logan!" With hearing like his, she wondered why he didn't respond to her calls. "Logan." She said, finally catching up to him. For an instant, she felt she didn't recognize the eyes that looked back at her. "I have the night off. I thought maybe we could use it for a mini-getaway to help clear your mind." Ororo removed the hard hat that had been covering most of his face and put it on herself. "I don't know how good of a distraction I'll be, but I have few ideas." She grinned naughtily. Had she not been feeling so in the mood, she would've made a comment about his recent haircut, but she didn't want to spoil the moment. "I'm going to take a bath, and should you wish, I'm yours for the night." The sight of her snowy white locks cascading over her shoulders, pure blue eyes filled with impure thoughts, was enough to guarantee that the hat would not be the only hard thing between them. She moved away from him. "I think I'll hold onto this."

And with that, she left; hungry eyes following her as she skipped up the steps back into the mansion.

888

Things had not changed again since the last, transition. On his final set of push ups, Logan was deep in thought as the grass came closer to his nose in one swift motion, then repelled back in the same manner. In some ways, he wanted to go back. Things seemed to make more sense here, but the thought of leaving her there, hate and pain running so deep within her, and him being the cause of both. Well, someone who bore a resemblance to him. He wondered if the days that had passed here, passed equally in length there. He had not stopped asking himself two questions in particular: what, and why. Having tossed around many ideas and possibilities for the past days both to himself and with others, it became clear that the answers were anything but. It was getting dark. Probably about time for him to head back in.

He'd been training, eating more than his regular, which was saying a lot. If nothing else, his training sessions helped to clear his mind of all thoughts and give the damn thing a break for a while. He grabbed the towel to his side and made his way back to the mansion. He'd picked a spot near the border of the grounds, far from the sight of prying eyes. The institute was undergoing reconstruction on its west wing, there were far too many unfamiliar people around for him to be comfortable. The gates of the Xavier Institute always felt like the barrier between the big, bad world out there, and the safe haven for mutants that some argued was too idealistic, not a true representation of life out in the real world. He scoffed at the thought, the real world. He didn't even know what that meant anymore. He was getting closer to the tree-line before the garden, noticing that the builders were heading out. _Thank fuck fer that. _He thought.

He caught sight of Ororo walking over to one of the men. She seemed more familiar with him than he'd liked. After a few moments, she removed the hard hat from his head, placing it sexily to one side. He didn't know what she was playing at. He carried on, each step causing his anger to rise. She left him, hard hat still on her head. Logan rolled his shoulders, knowing that there wasn't a chance he'd let the fucker go without a stern word, or fist. The man was making his way back toward the only remaining parked truck. Logan stalked through the brush, stepping into view as the man threw his tool belt into the cab. Logan sniffed the air, growing colder at the scent.

"Well, well, well. I was wonderin' when you'd show." The man said, turning to face Logan.

"You..." Logan uttered, in disbelief.

"Kinda has a strange irony, huh?" His double chuckled. "As much as I'd love t' hold hands an' sing kumbaya, I got an invitation that I sure as fuck ain't passin' up fer this." He pointed up to the mansion, Ororo's room to be exact. "An' I just can't have you spoil my fun." Logan knew all the thoughts behind the grin that followed his doppelgänger's words, none of them good.

Logan stood, still in shock, snapping out of it in time enough to steel himself for the tackle that sent them both tumbling back into the tree line. He rolled back again to free himself, getting to his feet. The trademark sound of adamantium rushing free could be heard, glinting from what little light was left of the day. "You better start talkin' bub, 'cause I ain't a fan o' impersonations."

"Funny. Neither am I." One by one, razor sharp adamantium claws extended from the back of his hand. "An' one more thing," he said, reaching to his inner jacket pocket. Logan saw the gun come out, moving to dodge as the silencer pointed towards him. He leapt out of the way, and he might've avoided the ensuing shot, if the shooter had been less of a marksman. The bullet hit him straight in the temple and his body hit the earth, a plume of autumn leaves jumping into the air. "Never bring knives t' a gun fight."

Logan's eyes snapped open. He was inside. Had it happened again? He got up from the sofa couch and sprinted for the kitchen. "Please, no." He prayed, hitting the wall as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. A sick feeling came from the pit of his stomach as he looked at the photos on the refrigerator door. His eyes fell to Ororo, hair almost absent. "Send me back." It was him, it had to be. The Logan who had marred the life of this Ororo, was now free to do so with the other. "I have ta get back goddamnit!" Claws unsheathed, he stabbed the granite counter. "Send me back!

* * *

_To Be Continued I believe. As always, please feel free to review._


	5. A peek into the rabbit hole

_**It's Over. Now it's time to begin.**_

Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.

* * *

Ororo took a deep breath, closing her eyes and praying to the Bright Lady for strength. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feet coming to rest on the carpeted floor. She looked at the Spartan room: not a single photo adorned the walls, not a plant in sight. Over a year ago, she'd asked to move to a different room in a different part of the mansion, not taking any of her previous belongings with her. For a while, students and friends took turns to water and care for her leafy companions, but as the months went by, caretakers became fewer, until eventually no one ventured into the attic room. She herself had not been inside since. Even proximity to it sent painful memories flooding back. Though the professor told her that time would heal her wounds, she believed it less as time passed. She made her way to basin in the far corner of her room, turning on the light above the medicine cabinet and opening it to get her toothbrush. She thought back to her second encounter with Logan somedays back. He'd seemingly passed out on the grounds, Scott and Warren bringing him into one of the guest rooms, where he'd been lying, unconscious but stable, according to Henry. The professor had suggested more comfortable accommodation for Logan, saying it would only be a matter of time before he woke again.

She wasn't sure if she wanted him to. The whole situation had been so strange, unbelievable. Her thoughts and feelings were still tangled and in disarray. Even if her attacker was an impostor, her senses refused to listen to the reasoning of her mind. The previous night, she'd gone past the guest room where Logan still slept, watching him for almost twenty minutes. It had done nothing to ease her pain. She gargled and spat, placing her toothbrush back in its place and closing the cabinet door. She searched her reflection, noticing that her blue eyes had become more dull than she could remember. Warm water dripped from her face as she finished washing it, grabbing the small hand-towel to her side and tossing it on the single bed when she was done. She grabbed a pair of black jeans from the back of her chair, tightening the belt that held them up, now three sizes too big. A white tee-shirt followed, and finally a pair of casual sandals. _Just one day._ She thought, holding back the torrent of emotion that would turn the calm air wild and force the sunlight from the sky. _Free my mind of it for just one day._

As usual, she greeted students on her way to the kitchen, decidedly missing the morning breakfast crowd and opting to get her cup of tea in peace. She walked to the kitchen, shocked for an instant upon meeting the professor and Logan. The professor threw a dishcloth over his shoulder and brought himself over to the large counter in the center of the room. He began chopping green pepper on the board, drawing her attention to the claw marks in the granite. "You're awake." She said, trying hard to muster a genuine smile but failing.

Logan's eyes took her in for a moment before he spoke. "Yeah. Since early this morning."

"Logan and I have been trying to make sense of his situation. It's a bit of a brainteaser to be honest." The professor informed her, finely dicing.

The longer she stood in Logan's presence, the harder she felt it was to breath. She felt conflicted, like she had when she'd faced him in the war room days before. A part of her wanted to leave, to get away from him as quickly as possible. But another ordered her to stay. Ororo Munroe did not turn tail and run. She entered the kitchen and made her way to the counter. "Any new developments?" she asked.

"Yeah. I met my twin... and he put a bullet in my head." Logan said, putting something in his pocket. "Seems I ain't the only one jumpin' between this world an' the other."

He made a move to the counter, Ororo flinching back for a fraction of a second, enough for both of them to notice. "I'm sorry." She said, shaking her head to try and remove the silliness of such an action. "I... It's just strange, having you here." The professor began whisking the eggs he'd just broken into a glass bowel. The sound seemed distant to her. Her mouth was dry, cheeks felt flush.

"I can tell I'm makin' ya uncomfortable darlin'. I'll get outta yer hair." he caught himself, realising that he was the only person in the room with any. "Well, ya get what I mean." Both she and the professor smiled at the remark. "I'll talk to ya later Chuck." Logan left the kitchen, careful not to come too close to Ororo.

"It's natural." The professor said after a while, Ororo heading to the kettle and starting the water. "It's been a long time since you've seen him, or even heard his name. Every sensory cue tells you that it's _him_. You're allowed to feel threatened."

She dropped a tea bag into her mug. "Charles please, let's not discuss this." As she waited for the water to boil, she nipped an apple from the fruit bowl and took her first bite, watching the professor empty the contents of the glass bowl into a frying pan. "I know that there's an upcoming mission, I'd like to be involved in it."

"I'm not sure that this is a good time for you, Ororo." He trusted her skills and abilities, but with the sudden reminder of her extremely traumatic past, he did not trust her emotions to quite the same effect.

Her jaw clenched. "I can't be in this mansion right now. I need to focus my mind on some_thing_ else, and I need to do it some_where_ else." The kettle popped as the water came to the boil. She discarded her apple in the trash can, less than half eaten.

"You need to eat more than that." he said, having caught the action in his peripheral vision as he monitored his omelette. "You're welcome to share this."

"I'm fine." She countered, her tone slightly harsh.

"Ororo..."

"I said, I'm fine." she snapped.

He closed the omelette with the last of his ingredients inside and took the pan from the hot plate. Even without his abilities, even with her back turned, he sensed her pain. "Ororo, you are one of the closest people to me. You know that I am here for you."

"Now, but where were you when my need was greatest?" she asked, slamming the kettle on the kitchen counter. "Charles Xavier, the most powerful telepath in the world, couldn't hear me. " Her words spat like venom.

"Ororo, I wasn't here. I was miles away." he argued calmly. "I am not permanently tapped into the minds of everybody here. It would be wrong of me to do so."

"You should have known. You should have recognized something different in him, even before you left!" She didn't want to turn and face him.

Xavier bit his knuckle, a quirk of his when he was in thought. Even the most eloquent speech would do nothing to quell her anger. "I love you Ororo. What happened to you, is one of my greatest regrets."

"We regret the things we could have done, or should have done," she said as she took her cup and walked to the door, "or should have prevented." With a look of both anger and sadness: "I'm on the mission Charles, you owe me that much."

888

Before even opening her eyes, she felt the aches and pains of her body. Ororo found it difficult to so much as move a finger. The last thing she remembered was resting peacefully in the bathtub. Tucked away in soapy white mountains of pine scented bubbles, she'd all but completely drifted off to sleep. She'd managed to dig out one of her favourite CDs, a gift from Jean that she'd received some years back, which held the harmonious sounds of various animals within different environments. "_It's not the real thing, but I guess it's as close as you'll come to it in the Xavier mansion." _had been her redheaded friend's words. There was definite surrealism in the events that followed. Having just felt so safe and removed from the world, having it all come crashing down around her, in her own home, was something that she would never have expected. She'd fought him, but in the midst of such confusion, she'd barely gotten a bolt of lightning or gust of wind up before being knocked out. She tried, with slightly more strength, to move herself, wincing at the pain it caused.

"I'd take it easy, darlin'" Logan's voice advised.

Ororo opened her eyes finally, slightly shocked by the sight she saw. No longer at the mansion, she was now planted on a sofa, in the lounge portion of a different loft. Directly across from where she lay, Logan stood in the kitchen, opening a pack of steaks with a claw. The loft was simply decorated, but even that was to an extent that seemed uncharacteristic of Logan. White cabinets, wooden floors, bright red sofa couch and chair, electric blue bean bag. Arb ornaments were here and there throughout the place. The light of a fading day streamed in through the large windows behind her, casting long shadows along the floor and through the glass coffee table. "What's happening here?" Her voice was soft, still too sleepy to be at peak performance.

"I'm cooking." The steaks hit the pan, the familiar sound lasting for no more than thirty seconds before he slid them onto a plate. He grabbed his beer from the counter and made his way to sit in the chair across the coffee table from her. "I knocked you out pretty good, you'll be in pain for a while."

She realised, after a time, that her arm couldn't move. She pulled, craning her neck upward to see that she was cable-tied to the radiator at the head of the couch. The fact that he even thought such a thing would hold her was preposterous. Willing her mind, she directed a surge of lightning through her wrist to melt the object. Only, nothing happened. Again she tried, and again nothing. Feeling a restriction around her neck, she brought her hand to it, and felt a device so painfully familiar. "No." she whispered.

"Yes." he countered. "Ya didn't really think I'd have ya over an' not take any precautions?" He ate the steaks with his hands, licking the blood from his fingers between every few bites. "I'm not an idiot 'Ro."

She silently queried that. _Only fools bottle lightning._ "Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

Glaring: "You are _not _Wolverine."

"No, not anymore." He swallowed the chunk of meat in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of beer. "I got outta the hero business a long time ago." Ororo observed him, trying to sum up her captor, mildly distracted by the sound of him chewing the barely cooked flesh. Casual grey sweats, close cropped hair, a few faint scars on his face that she did not remember Logan having.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"It ain't a tough guess, Weather Witch." he said as he chewed the last piece, setting the plate down on the table and dusting his hands. "I want ya t' fix what ya broke."

A genuine look of confusion crossed her beautiful features. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's rich." he said. "I trusted you! You, her, whatever, it's all the same!" Logan shouted. He held his knuckles, in an effort to hold back the claws that were sure to come out. "Tell ya what: the sooner you quit takin' me fer a meathead, the easier you'll make this."

"I've never underestimated Logan's intelligence. If you believe that to be true, then you must have me confused with someone else." Ororo said, with one brow raised.

He stood, never breaking eye contact with her as he made his way around the table, and took a seat in the gentle curve her body made. "There is something different." He said softly, bringing his hand to her cheek, stopping short as she jerked away. He removed a bottle of pills from his faded jean pocket and held it up for her to see. "It's a cocktail I got a friend t' cook up fer me." As he shook it: "Helps keep my head on straight, fer the most part. Turns out gettin' yer noodle torn between different realities can do a thing or two to a man's mind after a while. But then again, you knew that from the get-go."

"I still don't know what you're..."

"Cairo!" He shouted. "You used yer magics t' take whatever human part of me I still had left!" Words passed through gritted teeth. "An' I've been bouncin' around like a ping pong ball between worlds ever since. I don't know where the similarities start an' stop, but I can guess ya both have a pretty strong sense of self-preservation." He left the sofa couch, unzipping his sweatshirt as he crossed to a far section of the loft. "Find a way t' keep me in one world, or I'll make sure y' ain't breathin' in either."

888

Cyclops looked out onto the endless desert, Phoenix doing the same, hand shielding the sun from her eyes. Hot wind blew across the sands, warping and shaping the dunes around them. They'd been waiting for the past half hour, now beginning to wonder if their informant was even going to show. Luckily for Cyclops, Wolverine had been discovered in the aft part of the Blackbird near the end of their trip, making for extremely polite conversation.

"I cannot believe you disobeyed a _direct_ order from the professor!" Cyclops fumed.

Wolverine looked out in the other direction. "Now that's a lie... you _can_ believe that. It just gets yer panties in a knot when ya think about it." He had overheard information about the mission to Cairo, Egypt. There was a chance that he could find answers there, and even if not, he couldn't sit on his hands for another minute with everything going on inside his head.

"You've put this mission in jeopardy. If anything goes wrong with you, I'm leaving your ass to burn out here."

"I can take care of myself."

"With your recent bouts of extreme narcolepsy, I highly doubt it." Cyclops scoffed.

Wolverine rolled his eyes. "You're a dick, whatever reality I'm in."

"At least that's the only thing I'm guilty of."

He turned, glaring at his visor covered eyes. "You got a bone t' pick with me, bub?"

"I just wonder when people'll stop making excuses for you. You're a loose canon Logan, insubordinate, unpredictable, dangerous. But it always gets waved away with a: That's the way he is." Cyclops now faced him. "If I had my way, you'd never be allowed within a mile of the mansion. Even if you're not from our reality, both Logans are better off in the wild where they belong."

Before either of them could get into the fight they were itching for, Phoenix's voice called out. "Hey! Someone's coming."

They watched the horse-mounted figure ride toward them, a long beige tunic billowing in the wind. As the rider drew closer, they could see a bourque shielding her from the elements. Within a minute or two, the beautiful brown stallion that had carried its rider so far in the heat of the day galloped to a stop, allowing her to dismount. There was a tense silence, one owed no doubt to her summation of the three before her. Large hazel eyes observed, set against golden skin. "My name is Alima. I spoke with your Charles Xavier."

"Cyclops.": he introduced, holding out his hand.

She looked down at it then lowered her bourque before shaking his hand. "Hello Cyclops." Introductions followed with the rest of the group. "Mr. Xavier mentioned that there would be a team member who was familiar to Cairo, that she spent some of her younger years here."

"Storm flew out with us, but had another engagement to attend to first." Phoenix explained. In truth, they didn't know where Storm was, or why she had left them midair. In some ways, they felt it was better to have her away from the mission, since they were still not completely confident in her state. Fortunately she had left before their discovery of Wolverine, which was something that surely would've put her on edge. "You told the professor there was something of great importance that you needed to show us but as I understand it, you didn't go into much detail."

"I was afraid you would not come if I did." she said sadly. "I am a resident doctor of a mental clinic in the city. For a number of years, I have treated patients with varying levels of psychosis. After recently reviewing many of my notes and files, I am finding an increasingly common thread running through them. It has been difficult, but I've managed to find evidence that suggests my patients are victims." She placed her hand on the ground, closing her eyes. Sand began to fall away from the dune they stood on top of, cascading down and revealing what looked to be an entrance way to a bunker of some sort.

"Neat trick." Wolverine said, jumping down to the doors

"I discovered this with detective work some months ago." Alima said. "I believe it was the base of operations for... well, I don't truly know."

Wolverine's claws unsheathed. "It's been a while since I had t' open a tin can. But hell, it's like ridin' a bike."

Before he could stake his claws into the space that separated both doors, Alima placed her hand on his forearm. "That will not be necessary." She placed her other hand on a door, and concentrated again. The doors slid open obediently. "Molecular manipulation has its benefits." The four of them started down the corridor. "For centuries, my people have told the story of a being of the desert. It walks between worlds, and those unlucky enough to meet it, are sometimes taken along for the journey. To some, it is a demon, to others, a god."

"You think it's a mutant." said Jean.

"Now, yes. Since many myths and legends are born of reality, maybe once a mutant with the same power did exist. Mutancy is not spoken of in this country. You are shunned, exiled, if you are found to possess such abilities. Many live in fear and so it would be natural to try to make sense of such things." They stopped at another set of doors, rusted through for the most part. The only light came from the day behind them. Candy wrappers and chip packets littered the floor, interspersed with soda cans. A sharp smell of urine, feces and decay caught them all. "One of my only, vaguely coherent patients, alerted me to this place. Even after gathering information from different sources, it took me months to find." Again, she opened the doors, removing a wide-beam torch from her tunic.

The room, was less than that, an eight by eight metal box. It was clear now where the smells had originated from. With only a single entrance and no windows, not outlets save for a small grate in one of the walls, this was worse than any prison cell could ever be. The smell of ammonia was overbearing, and Cyclops and Phoenix had to cover their noses to ensure they wouldn't pass out. Wolverine took the torch from Alima, stepping into the box and looking at every detail of it carefully. Fragments of nail could still be seen on the floor, dried blood on one of the walls from what looked like a suicide attempt. But none of what he saw held weight with him... bar one. "You knew all of this, an' you did nothin'."

"Wolverine." Cyclops warned.

"I would hardly call what I have done, nothing." Alima defended. "I unfortunately do not have the will or ability to do more. Asking questions can be dangerous. That is why I called you."

"Yer a mutant fer cryin' out loud. Ya sure as shit ain't defenseless."

"Wolverine!" The last thing Cyclops wanted to do was offend her.

Alima folded her arms. "Yes, I am a mutant, but I am also a mother, and a wife. I can defend myself, but my family cannot. And with someone capable of such atrocity on the loose, I am already endangering them by simply being here." She spun on her heel and made her way out, both Phoenix and Cyclops following. Seemingly agitated, she whistled for her horse. "I hope I did not make a mistake in bringing you." Her bourque went back across her face. "This will be our first and last meeting or communication, I cannot risk more by continuing in this." She removed a tightly bound stack of papers from the travel sack attached to the saddle. "Here is a compilation of the similarities I have been able to identify, and anything else I felt worthy of mention. Possible accomplices of this mutant and names of those involved in the criminal activities of my city. If he or she does exist, you will be able to find someone who knows something, in here."

"Thank you." Phoenix said, accepting the pack. "And we're sorry for what he said back there."

"No, he is right." Alima waved her hand in dismissal. "Even though my patients have beating hearts, and breath in their lungs, they are dead. Empty shells of what they once were. Some are trapped in lifelong nightmares, others drift in and out of comprehension. Three, I have lost to comas: one day, they went to sleep, and just didn't wake up. Of my most recent, though she came to me of her own will, seemingly fine, I witnessed her slowly slip into insanity. This person is a monster, a sociopath distinguishable from a serial killer only by modus operandi. Maybe if I had had the courage, I could've stopped it all."

Phoenix smiled at her. "You have courage, this meeting is proof of that."

"Thank you." She placed her foot in the stirrup and swung her other leg over. "Not every mutant is a crime-fighter, not every human a hero. That's why we are fortunate to have you and those like you. The world may be quick to dismiss us, I pray that you don't. Please... help." With that, she started a gentle gallop, rounding her horse to go back the way that they had come.

Logan was still in the bunker, looking from wall to ceiling to floor. He couldn't understand any of it, how it could be possible. He extended his claws, running them along a wall until they slid perfectly into a set of identical claw marks. Those same marks littered the metal structure, few areas left free of them. He recognised them, the enraged and desperate attempts of an animal, a Wolverine caged.

* * *

_To be continued I believe_

_A/n: As always ladies and gents, reviews are welcomed and appreciated_


	6. Between a rock

_**It's Over. Now it's time to begin.**_

Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.

* * *

Logan placed Ororo's dinner in front of her, on a plate rich with greens and steak cooked to perfection. She sat across from his seat at the make-shift dining table he'd created using the kitchen prep table and some barstool type chairs from the main room. The entire place had filled with the smell of deliciousness as Logan whipped around and prepared their meal, with an ease she'd never known her Logan to have in the kitchen. Then again, she'd never seen the man cook. He could be just as comfortable as his doppelgänger in the same setting. As her thoughts drifted, Logan set some water on the table for her, and beer for himself, grabbing the dishtowel from over his shoulder and throwing it onto the counter, finished with the evening's meal. He himself must've been ravenous, setting his arms on either side of his plate and looking at his dinner as though it was the last meal he might ever have. "Dig in." He grinned, taking his knife and fork.

"No thank you." Ororo said politely, her free hand not reaching for a utensil. The other had been placed behind her back and tied to the chair.

He stopped midway through cutting his steak. "'Darlin', ya don't need t' make any sweepin' statements here. You're hungry, eat."

"My appetite has left me." That was a bold faced lie, considering that her stomach was aching from the scent and her mouth, salivating.

"That's bullshit. Yer stomach ain't as good a liar as you." He tapped his ear. "Come on, stage a protest later and eat your food."

"No thank you." she repeated.

The fork didn't reach his lips. In a low voice, he said again: "Eat. Your. Food."

"Since you put it that way," she said, "no."

"Goddamnit!" Logan shouted, dropping his fork and slamming his fist on the table, startling her. "Why the fuck do ya always have to be so fucking stubborn?" He flipped his plate in anger, the dish hitting the floor and shattering, steam rising from the food that had not had a chance to cool. Ororo watched him as he buried his head in his hands. "Do you know how long it's been since I've actually sat down and shared a meal with someone? Anyone? I actually put a lot o' work inta this." Suddenly, laughter emanated from him, thick and loud. "But then again, not like ya give a shit. Nothing I ever did fer 'the goddess' was good enough."

"Stop." she said softly. "Stop comparing the Ororo you know, to me. That was your first mistake."

"Yeah well, you don't know her. You don't know how alike you are in every way."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Well, you don't know me, and so the same applies. If you did, you would know that this," she illustrated, jerking her restricted arm, "will get you nowhere." He looked at her now, truly looked at her, with a focus and intensity he had not shown. "You are my accuser, and yet refuse to tell me in detail, what I am being accused of. I can only give you my word that there is no deception on my part. Believe what you will."

Logan took time before speaking. "Cairo. You had yer goons lock me up in a bunker and leave me t' rot in there."

"And how can you be so sure that it was Ororo?"

He ground his finger into his temple. "All the pieces, they all fit together. See, it wasn' just the part about bein' left t' die, it's the fact that while I was in there, I started this crazy dance between worlds. Wakin' up in fucked up places, thinkin' I was dreamin' then hopin' the bunker was the dream... or nightmare. I couldn't keep track of time anymore, couldn't get back to the mansion no matter how hard I tried. Like someone was stopping me, every decision I made or plan, kept steerin' me away from there. The only constant though, was you. I saw you everywhere, just glimpses, didn't matter which reality I was in. Like ya were watchin' me, keepin' tabs." He let out a breath of air. "I remember ya tellin' me years ago about some witchy ancestry, an' with yer past with the Shadow King, you've definitely got the means."

"But what's the motive?" After having asked the question, she wasn't really sure she wanted it answered. Her Logan had told her the stories of this, Double's, trips to the alternate world, the events that lead to Wolverine becoming a code name long buried and never spoken. The idea that the man who committed that crime, now sat before her. The fact that without her abilities, Ororo would most certainly be the looser in a fight against him. Suddenly, she felt more uneasy than she had in her time as his prisoner. As much as he reminded her of the Logan she cared for, something was different. His manner betrayed something, unsettling.

"That's simple: I hurt ya." He rested his chin on his clasped hands, never breaking eye contact.

She felt a knot in her throat, her heart picking up an extra few beats as the gravity of her situation truly struck. "I..." she managed to let out.

"I hurt ya 'Ro." Logan got up from his seat, slowly walking behind her. He drew a deep breath, enjoying the scent of her hair and how long it had been since he'd had the pleasure. He moved in, his lips mere inches from her ear. "And I couldn't promise that I would never do it again."

_888_

"Schizophrenia." Charles said, setting down the file in his hand. "All of the documented cases listed in Alima's patient files, exhibited mental illnesses caused by what we can only assume to be a mutant. Schizophrenia is the most prevalent of them all. She took a lot of time and put a lot of care into each of their treatments but I believe even with Alima's dedication and expertise, these people have been irreversibly affected."

Logan nodded his head in agreement, then shook it. "Gotta say Chuck, my knowledge of mental illnesses is a bit rusty."

"Symptoms include rapid and severe mood changes from high to low, emotional detachment and an inability to form relationships, sudden and irrational anger, hostility, suspiciousness. There is a tendency to have paranoid delusions where the patient may feel the world is conspiring against them, reading their minds and controlling them." Henry volunteered, sitting at Logan's side.

"As always Hank, you're my favourite blue, walking Encyclopedia." tossed Logan. "So the doc is suggestin' that somebody did this t' us." Logan said. He cracked his knuckles. "I don't get it. If a mutant could move between realities an' mind fuck whoever they wanted to, why me? An' two versions t' boot."

Charles shrugged. "Maybe this mutant has a fascination with you. Do you think it possible that it's someone you know?"

"Never met anyone who could do that." he responded.

"Maybe it's someone who knows you." Hank said.

Logan looked at him, unsettled by the thought. "Still, if both versions o' me went through the same thing, then why the hell aren't I goin' around..." he left the rest of the sentence open. No one needed to hear the words to gather what he was going to say.

"Although from what you tell us, it's clear that there are many similarities shared between ourselves and our alternate forms, I still believe that we are different in aspects of what makes us who we are." said the professor.

"Yer talkin' about a soul." The professor nodded. "Sorry Chuck, but I just ain't that into the spiritual stuff."

"You don't have to be. As far as I'm concerned, the current situation is proof enough." He closed the file and pursed his lips. "We're obviously dealing with a very powerful mutant here. One with not only the ability to move through alternate dimensions, but with an ability to alter and twist the mind, or at least a firm grasp of how to manipulate the situation in order to do so."

"Hank, could you give us a minute?" Logan asked. Henry nodded and made his way out of the office. The rhythmic tick of the cuckoo clock served as a placeholder, as Logan seemed to ponder on what he was about to share. He slid forward in his seat, elbows on knees, fingers locked, eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet. "I'm just gonna lay this out there 'cause'," he let out a short, truly genuine laugh, "well, 'cause I feel like a rubber duck, in an ocean sized clusterfuck." His language never failed to disrupt Charles, even if for the briefest of moments. "I'm a simple man, and I like it that way. But this... it ain't simple. I can't fight, what I don't know, and I can't kill, what I can't find. See I'm the best there is at what I do but the problem is, I can't do that now. All those people, they went through things, like I did, and they lost it. Now I ain't no scientist but the odds are pretty good that if this keeps up, same thing's gonna happen ta me. And it's already started." He added, sensing the professor's desire to comment.

"Logan, I will do everything in my power to keep you sane." Charles said softly.

The unkempt man looked at him, such as the professor had never witnessed before. A look that shocked him with its vulnerability. "In my world, Ororo and I are... somethin'. I don't do relationships 'cause they don't last with me, and maybe, that part of what we are won't either. But I guess it doesn't matter because _it's_ more than that, and _we're_ more than that, and that is the only thing keeping me from goin' ten kinds o' crazy. If I did go AWOL, I'd imagine it'd be the only thing that might bring me back." He stood suddenly, rubbing at his beard as he walked to the bookcase behind him. "She dragged me out of hell. She fought for me in more ways than one. ' Changed things. Fer the first time, I know that this is someone I won't only die for... but someone I'll live for. And Chuck, if I loose that..."

A knock on the door cut him short. "Professor," Scott said as he walked in, "sorry to interrupt but I think we might have a problem. Ororo hasn't checked for 48 hours, and she's not responding to any of the messages we've left or answering her phone." Logan turned. "Maybe she's fine and I'm overreacting but..."

"In light o' recent events, the schizo might know her connection t' me an' get back to the nine ta five job of destroying lives." Logan finished for him.

Scott nodded in agreement, jaw clenched. "I'd like to put together a small team professor. If she needs time alone, I'd prefer she have it as far away from this situation as possible."

"Agreed." Charles nodded.

"I'm coming with you." Logan stated, not wanting to dwell on the thoughts that were forcing their way into his mind. He wouldn't wish what he'd been through on his worst enemy.

Scott placed his hand on Logan's chest, blocking him from leaving. "I don't need you on this. I'll take care of my own."

Before Logan could protest, the professor voiced his agreement, calming him telepathically. "Ready the team and have them on standby. I'll use Cerebro to try and locate her, and if that proves unsuccessful, you'll have a go." Scott nodded and left. "Logan, this puts you in a very difficult position. While I believe Scott is wrong to exclude you from this based on his dislike for Logan and that your expertise might be invaluable, I'm not sure if you should go. Since entering this reality again, your desire to return to your own and find her, has not ebbed. I believe I can help you get back, but you have to decide which Ororo needs you more."

_888_

_Cairo, Egypt_

The first thing she heard was the bustle of the street, a number of floors below from the sounds of it. Laughter, a car horn, a scooter whizzing by. A day she might otherwise have been enjoying if not for her current incarceration. Ororo tried to move her arms, both tied behind her back. Her legs received the same treatment, tied at the ankle to each leg of the chair which she occupied. She slowly lifted her head, opening her eyes and adjusting her sight to the blurry shapes that took some time to become clear. She had been gagged, her mouth intensely dry. There was no telling how long she'd been out. The last thing she remembered was meeting an old friend, a fellow thief from her childhood. Someone must've knocked her out from behind. She never saw it coming. The room was well kept: windows open, letting in a cooling breeze, white curtains bending to the air. Books decorated the desk to her left, their absence on the well stocked bookshelf evident. A muted television on the other side of the room displayed the news.

"Finally." A woman's voice. "I must admit, I was starting to get extremely bored waiting for you to wake, Sleeping Beauty." She entered, a glass in one hand and bourque covering her features. Removing the gag from Ororo's mouth, she brought the glass to her prisoner's lips, receiving a defiant lack of cooperation when she tried to tip the water into her mouth. "It's just water honey, and it won't kill you to drink it. The opposite in fact."

"Who are you?"

"Now that, is a very interesting question." She set the glass down. "You should know better than to go snooping around for mutant criminals here, Ororo. Offering a half a million dollars to the mutant who possesses the skills you need, now that's throwing some serious blood into the water. Now I'm wondering, why?"

"Who, are you?" Ororo asked more insistently.

"You're smart. You wouldn't put this on the table unless you were desperate." The woman brought a chair from the desk and sat face to face. "You flew half way across the world to find yourself a telepath. Which seems strange to me, considering you live with the most powerful one on Earth."

"I will not ask you again." Concentrating, Ororo began to summon the elements. But, none came to her aid.

"I wouldn't bother. The groggy sensation you're experiencing is due to the fiesta of drugs in your system, many of which are also preventing you from accessing your abilities." She crossed her legs and smoothed out her bourque. "Now, why would you be looking for a telepath?"

Ororo hardened her gaze. "Why have you taken me prisoner?"

"I asked first." Ororo felt her insides begin to twist, as though a hand had reached in and clutched to every major organ. "Trust me, as doped as you are, this will still hurt. A lot."

"Why are you doing this?!" Ororo screamed, doubling over in pain.

"You're not getting how this works, my dear. I ask the questions, and you answer them, and maybe if I'm feeling up to it, I might consider answering yours." She gently lifted Ororo's chin, bringing her voice to a whisper. "You see, I don't like people keeping information from me and what you're feeling now, is me going easy on you. If you'd prefer, I can start to boil every cell in your body, until you answer my very simple question. Why?"

Ororo's head suddenly felt as though it had been put in a vice. The eyes of the woman in front of her seemed calm, happy even. As the pressure continued to mount, her nose began to bleed out, followed by her ear. "To forget!" she shouted, close to passing out. She felt instant relief, savouring the deep breaths she could now take. "To forget the past years of my life."

Her eyebrow raised. "Why come here?"

"No one I know would do this for me. I remembered from my childhood, the stories of a mutant who ran with one of the gangs." Ororo took a moment to control her breathing. "He could supposedly take the memories of witnesses, or victims. There were rumours that he was for hire. At the time, it seemed a mystery."

"But now you've put together that he was a mutant and thought you might hire him yourself." She nodded. "Very risky. Very, very risky. But why now?"

Ororo glared at her, hating herself for not being able to resist the pain. "Cairo was mentioned, and the opportunity presented itself at a time where forgetting is all I want to do."

"Oh, this is just too precious." the woman laughed. "I couldn't have planned this better myself."

"Your turn. Why have you captured me? How do you know about me? And why do you want to know more?" Ororo asked, trying to find familiarity in her captor's large, hazel eyes, with little success.

"One question at a time. I believe the first regarded who I am." She unclipped her bourque, revealing golden skin and a disturbing smile. "My name, is Alima."

* * *

_A/N: To be continued, soon, I promise. I'm already half way through the next chapter which I'm really excited about but I needed to do this short filler chapter to set up a few things.  
_


	7. Blood moon

_**It's Over. Now it's time to begin.**_

Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.

* * *

Shards of moonlight sliced through the windows, distorted shadows painting a sinister picture in the otherwise dark apartment. It was cold, and it was quiet. The calm after the storm, and the destruction that came with it. Blood spatter could be found across the once immaculate white walls, near the black and white picture of the New York Boardwalk, _where Ororo had managed to cut across his stomach_. The air was stale, a heavy, musk scent almost stifling to anyone who might breathe it, _as Ororo had tried with her neck in the tight grip of his hand._ Granite and wood from the decimated counter tops and mangled chairs littered the kitchen floor, pots and pans dented and clawed, and what now just barely resembled the dinner that had been cooked but not eaten hours earlier, _when he'd moved to take her._ The glass table in the lounge was bloodied and broken, _pieces jabbing into his back after she'd successfully thrown him onto it_, the sofa couch ripped to little more than shreds. The venetian blinds that covered the windows now failed at their purpose, most having been pulled down or missing more than half of their components, _as she'd fought to escape, running through the apartment_. Even the narrow rug that ran through the length of the corridor had been marred, a tangle of long white hair woven into it, _no doubt while Ororo had struggled beneath him_.A thick trail of blood sullied the previously pristine wooden floor to the bedroom, warped yet still recognizable handprints between.

_888_

Logan's eyes shot open and he instantly winced in pain and discomfort. It took a moment or two for his vision to restore itself properly, and he squinted from the dim light that came through the leafy canopy high above him. From the colour of the sky and the temperature, he wagered that it was minutes away from nightfall. He looked down at himself, covered in leaves and soil, insects crawling over his arms and chest. Slowly sitting up, he shook off the indicators that he had been out for quite some time. He remembered his encounter with his double, and accurately assumed he was still in the same part of the Xavier grounds that he'd been shot in. His head wasn't pounding, which would be the only upside to his coming back. His stomach yelled at him, his throat cursed him, and his body was barely co-operative as he struggled to stand, falling a few times before actually succeeding in starting his way to the mansion. As he walked, he reassured himself that he had made the right choice. What the animal in him might do to Ororo, scared him more than the uncertainty of her whereabouts in Cairo. And now that he was back, the professor would be able to find her, and he could stop his 'alter ego' before he lay a hand on her.

"Jesus Christ, mon ami." Remy said softly as he looked out from his perch on the porch. Rogue looked up at him from her Blackberry, confused. She recognised the weight of his look and followed his eyes past her to the garden. The shock of seeing her teammate and friend stumble into view overwhelmed her. Remy dropped his book and ran for Logan, managing to catch him just before he hit the ground again. "Logan, wha' the hell happened?" he asked, Logan's chest leaning on his forearm as he was brought to the ground.

Logan found difficulty in speaking, understandable since his body had been left to weather the elements for days without care. "Ororo, she's in trouble."

"What?" Remy had understood the words, but not much more. "Bu' she was wit you...? Wha' happened?"

The burly man shook his head. "She didn' leave with me. She's in trouble. The professor, he's gotta find her." He grabbed at Remy's arm. "He'll kill her Gumbo, he'll kill her."

Remy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Rogue! Go! Tell de professor t' find Storm! Do i' now!"

_888_

"He's searching for her as we speak." Jean said, handing Logan a bottle of water. "You know that. You don't have to wait here, we'll get the word as soon as he finds her." Logan rested against the cold metal wall in front of the chamber where Cerebro was housed. The familiar lower levels of the Xavier mansion ran deep and strangely tonight, for Logan, never had they seemed so empty, void of purpose. Everything seemed that way in the past weeks. If it wasn't related to solving the myriad problems of universal proportions, it had no purpose. It had been only ten minutes since Charles had begun his search, and it was well possible it would only be ten minutes more, but every minute, every second that went by, seemed too long. Perhaps he had not felt the intensity of the situation while in the alternate reality because he had no way of getting back willfully, and when the opportunity to uncover the mystery that had claimed the recent years of his life presented itself, he lost sight.

"I'm not leaving here until he comes out." he said.

"Logan, you should at least eat something, clean up." Jean tried, her voice soft and comforting.

"'I just said, I'm not leaving here. Ro's life is in danger, and yer tellin' me t' take a shower?" scoffed Logan.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. I just think you might want a recharge before we head out. Five minutes to clear your mind might..."

"I'm not leaving her!" he shouted, frightening the redhead somewhat.

She sighed. "No, you're not. Not by walking down this corridor, getting some coffee, and giving yourself a moment to breathe. You're not leaving her, Logan." With that, she decided to give him the time he needed on his own.

He looked next to him, staring blankly at the door as he pondered Jean's words. Finding it far easier than before, he got to his feet and made his way to the team showers on the lower level. They were no so much showers as cylinders that shot out highly pressurized steam mixed with disinfectant. The X-men's track record for coming home from a mission in a state far from clean, had prompted the installation. One minute in and out did the job and more. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, catching sight of his form in the mirror. Logan was someone who possessed not a single trait relating to vanity, and yet even he had to tsk at the still abysmal state of his once olympian physique. This was no doubt, the skinniest he could ever remember being. He grabbed a set of sweats from the communal lockers and as Jean suggested, a coffee from the little Nespresso machine that Rogue had insisted on having in the locker room for before and after missions. His bare feet sounded through the hall as he made his way back to Cerebro, stopping short when he saw the professor in front of him.

He wheeled over to Logan and handed him a small folded piece of paper. "Her location."

He wasn't sure that he wanted to ask the question, but he felt he had to. "Chuck... how is she?"

"I cannot truly say. Something is blocking me from coherently communicating with her mind. A turbulent sea of emotions so vast that I need time to find dry land. I will continue to try to make contact and calm her until you arrive." Charles assured him.

"What kind?"

The professor lifted a brow. "I'm not quite sure I understand."

"What kind of emotions?" Time was of the essence, and the longer he stood around chitchatting, the more chance of something happening to Ororo. For some reason though, he needed to know. He needed to know what he was putting her through.

Professor Xavier's expression ran cold. "Just get to her."

Logan dropped his coffee and headed for the elevator.

_888_

Ororo continued to roll her wrists. She'd been at it for hours. Aside from being allowed out for a monitored trip to the rest room twice that day, she had spent the remaining hours tied with cloth to the chair in the center of the lounge. Her mysterious captor Alima had disappeared hours ago, leaving her with three goons who'd set up a poker game on the kitchen table. She imagined they didn't know too much about what was going on, honestly, it seemed no one did aside from Alima. Her skin was rubbing raw from her attempt to escape, but the minor wounds outweighed the chance at freedom. Regardless of what the intentions of the group might be, she thought it best to not stick around and find out. She could feel her skin seeping, but she could also feel... Ororo slowly slid her hand out of the binds. First one, then the other. Her gag was the next to go, and finally, the binds around each of her ankles.

The kitchen light shone onto the floor of the apartment. The laughter of the three men could be heard over the music that played from what sounded like badly tuned radio. Cigarette smoke leaked into lounge, nauseating her slightly in her drugged state. She had two choices at this point: run and get back to the X-men, or stay and find out who the ringmaster to this operation might be. Both seemed equally tempting. She moved quietly across the room, careful not to step on the papers that were strewn across the floor. It became evident that no one had lived in the apartment for quite some time, perhaps the reason why they would use it to hold her. The silhouette of her shaven head moved against the walls and over the folded art easel in the corner of the room, dusty brooms and old paint rags. She crouched when she reached the wall, able to see the reflections of two of her three guards in the kitchen. Two different paths now waited for her decision.

A guard looked up from the spread of cards on the table, craning his neck and spotting the partially open door in the corridor. "She's out!" he shouted. The three men virtually fell on top of each other in an attempt to get out of the kitchen. Running into the lounge, their eyes searched in vain to find her. One turned and made his way to the outside corridor, the sound of a loud crack following moments after. The other two turned in surprise, running for the hallway. The door slammed the second man in the face, and then again. He stumbled back onto the third, eyes wide.

Ororo moved the door open slowly, rolling the downed man's arm off his stomach as she stepped over him to get back into the apartment. "Hello boys." she said calmly, holding a thick broom as a fighting staff, business end cracked from the blow she'd recently delivered. She'd been trained extensively with various staff weapons by the man that had taken so much from her. A broom had less flair, but it got the job done. "Either someone starts telling me what I want to know," the men looked to each other, mildly amused, "or I start cleaning house." A smirk crossed her lips, and as hard as she fought it, she imagined Logan grinning beside her.

_888_

The bedroom had seen the worst of that night. Such anger and bezerker rage had been unleashed. Logan's back pressed against the wall, knees up, bloodied arms resting on them. He looked at his hands, seemingly entranced by the amount of blood that dried itself on his skin. His eyes tracked across to the bed, the linens little more than strips of cloth soaked in blood. Even with only the moon's light to illuminate the room, the colour was unmistakable. Porcelain and wood from the bedside lamp and table had dug itself into his feet; skin had already healed around the shards. He could've lost himself in the silence of the night, secluded in this loft apartment on the outskirts of the city. That would have been better than facing what had happened. The realization that he truly was a monster, as hard as he might fight to change.

"Logan."

He refused to look, eyes moving back down to his lap.

"I'm done with you." he said, barely audible.

Ororo's voice came again: "Logan."

"Are you deaf? Go!"

"No."

He looked up, just enough to see her form in his peripheral vision. He couldn't stand to have her see him this way. The fight within himself, the battle that raged, yearning to break out. It had taken nearly everything within him to contain it. Logan had snapped that night, attacking Ororo and all but destroying the apartment. She'd loosened herself at the dinner table early on in their conversation, giving her the chance to grab a chef's knife and use it against him when lunged for her, cutting him diagonally up across his stomach, blood spraying onto the wall. He'd caught her by the throat, but she used the knife again, a deep gash across his arm. She then snuck by him as he reeled, and grabbed the hot pans he'd used to make their meal, now splayed across the kitchen floor. Dent after dent marred the pans as she struck and it became evident to Ororo that they would most certainly not knock him out. She'd rolled to the lounge, side stepped and used his weight to throw him into the glass table. Before she could clear the couch, he'd grabbed her ankle and pulled her back down, kicking at his face to try to get free and collapsing on the other side of the sofa once she had. He clawed at the piece of furniture, tearing it apart while he gained his bearings and stood. Ororo attempted to escape through the windows in vain, breaking the blinds as she fought past them. Finding the only path he didn't block, she headed for the bedroom, hoping to buy time by locking herself in. He had been too quick, bringing them to the ground and holding her down against the rug as she struggled beneath him.

And then, in that moment, with their eyes locked and a fire inside him burning hot... he stopped. He released her, and while fighting an internal conflict that Ororo could barely fathom, he unleashed his claws and drove them into himself, howling out in pain. He stood wearily, finally falling into the room. She knew this part of him. It had always scared her, but not more so than when she realized what it might mean. Fear froze her in place as Logan thrashed, tearing anything and everything apart with his claws, including himself. He dove into the walls, punched at them, shattered glass and splintered wood. He swung his claws so deep into his skin that it barely clung to his adamantium skeleton. Howling and snarling, growling, little now separated this man from a beast. Little, but enough for her to understand what he was doing. This feral state that had aided the X-men in so many battles, rendered him seemingly indestructible, had always been used on his enemies. If anyone was going to receive the carnage this rage released, it would be him, and not her. He released six claws into his chest, collapsing onto the bed as he bled out.

And that was where he had lay until a few minutes earlier. Ororo couldn't quite be sure what made her stay, watch him as his body healed itself in the way that she still found to be truly remarkable. She kept her distance, though it hardly mattered. Anywhere other than a city block away was still dangerous. She'd bloodied her hands and knees trying to get up from the pool of blood he'd left her in in the hallway. In fact she was covered in it, and so was he. The entire apartment looked like the scene of a butchery.

"The lock for yer collar..." He reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a slim device, sliding it to her.

She picked it up and studied it curiously. "Why didn't you do it?"

"What are ya talkin' about?" Logan still refused to look at her, his eyes darting at the floor close to him.

Uncertainty gripped her as she thought about what she would say. "Why didn't you kill me?"

His eyes lifted, pained. "'Ro, how can ya even ask me that?" She didn't respond. The question was obvious enough to her, given the history that her Logan had relayed. "I would die before doing that." he said slowly. "I can't even believe I let myself come this close to..." He let the statement taper off. "I'm so sorry." He buried his head in his arms.

Ororo put the key to one side and slid slightly closer to him, stopping just at the threshold. "Logan told me what you did in your reality. What you did to me. I'm trying to understand how you could do that, and spare me now."

"Please leave 'Ro. Please don't see me like this."

"I want to know how you could mutilate me there, and save me from yourself here." She didn't know if her voice was angry or desperate, to have an explanation for what had just happened. To put an end to the fears that she'd tried to dismiss. If this Logan could break and do such unspeakable things, how great was the chance that hers would also?

He looked up at her. "Mutilate you?"

"You raped me, her. You destroyed her, you took away her life." Saying the words only helped her to imagine the pain such a thing might cause. "That's why you left the mansion, isn't it?"

Confusion snaked over him. "I left because I hurt her. I cheated. But I _never_ raped her. I would _never _rape her."

Ororo made her way to him, quickly and with purpose. She brought her blood stained hands to either side of his face and held it there. "Logan, if you have ever cared for me, you will not lie. Not now."

He moved suddenly, bringing his arms around her waist, forcing a brief flash in her mind of the chat she and Logan had shared in the infirmary. His head pressed against her chest, and he took comfort in the beat of her heart. "I love you." he whispered. "Even in there, in that box, I saw ya everywhere." Ororo heard the crack in his voice. "I even imagined ya in there with me, talkin' t' me, keepin' me calm. But then it all got fucked up. Everything turned against me, even you. I didn't know what was real an' what wasn't anymore, jumpin' between worlds." He squeezed her more tightly. "You don' know what that's like, feelin' yer mind unravel an' not bein' able t' stop it. Maybe it would've come right, but I wasn't strong enough t' fight 'em." Tears fell from cheeks as he began to rock slowly. "I couldn't fight 'em baby, I just couldn't fight 'em."

Her chin rested on his hair, stroking it down as he repeated his words. "Who?"

Glass crunched beneath boot. Ororo turned to the doorway, finding Logan in stunned silence, his claws gleaming in the moonlight.

* * *

_To be continued..._

_A/n: Phew, ya I know, this one is a tough pill to swallow. Again, I hope that I haven't completely lost everybody here, reviews are always appreciated to let me know if that's the case or not. Chapter 6 and 7 were written as one but I had to break them since it risked it becoming too cluttered. Chapter 8 however has yet to be written, so I'll get on that right, about, now. Catch you next chapter and as always, thank you for reading..._


	8. The lines that blur

_**It's Over. Now it's time to begin.**_

Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.

_A/n: I'm hardly worthy of reviews after such a lengthy hiatus. In fact I doubt that many are keeping tabs on this anymore, so I'll have to earn the reviews. _

_Off to write the next chapter :)_

* * *

Ororo's body shifted, sleep shedding from her limbs. Her eyes fluttered open, still heavy with fatigue. The first thing she noticed was the hairy chest she was buried in, heartbeat strong and steady. She moved her head back and looked up, meeting the face of a sleeping wolverine. With what little strength she had, she pushed herself from the bed, collapsing to the floor in a tangle of sheets and waking her bed mate. Blinking frantically and struggling to right herself, she tried to make sense of where she was. Panic was the first emotion that kicked her into consciousness.

"Darlin', calm down." Logan said, moving to her.

"No!" She shouted, arm outstretched. "Stay where you are." Ororo slid back to the small bookshelf behind her, reminding herself to breathe. It was not the room that plagued her most recent memory. This was familiar, she knew this setting. It had always been spartan, to say the least. The blinds were almost always, if not partially, drawn to preserve the darkness that the shades of deeper blue bedding and carpet accentuated. A pack of cigarettes on the far desk, a single shirt on the back of the chair, closet door ajar with his towel hanging on the corner. Logan's wild, unkempt nature would trick some into believing his personal belongings were kept much in the same way. However discipline was always present, and synonymous, with the soldier that life had bred him to be. She remembered visiting his room in the years that he was away, not changing a thing in the belief that he would in fact return. In that time, it had been little more than a shell but now, the unique mix of fresh scented soap, cologne and not quite absent cigar smoke brought back memories of brighter days.

"It's me." He said softly.

Ororo fought back the lump in her throat. "I don't know what that means anymore." She whispered, honestly.

As much as it might have hurt her to say, she would never know how much it crushed him to hear. His hands lifted in surrender as he moved down and sat, knees up, with his back against the bed. "Hank gave ya somethin' ta help ya sleep." Logan watched as she rubbed her eyes. "You'll probably be a lil' groggy fer a bit."

She brought her legs to her chest and hugged them. "How long have I been out?"

"About a day straight. I wouldn't let them put ya in the infirmary an' yer attic's still a little, messed up. I figured ya needed t' wake up somewhere more... comfortable."

Her memories were slowly returning. "How have you managed these past months? Constantly questioning your reality, and the people within?" The encounter with the other Logan shook her. It had been intensely surreal. The body of a man who she'd shared many of her years with, yet the mind and memories of a stranger.

Logan shrugged. "I found my port in the storm, I guess."

As jewels, her sapphire eyes seemed to sparkle in response. "Though I have marveled at your strength and spirit for many years, I am ashamed to say that until this moment, I never realised how truly remarkable you are." Silence complimented the statement as they sat there, facing each other, temporarily removed from the chaos that now defined their every waking moment. "Forgive me."

"You keep sayin' things like that, an' I can guarantee ya, you'll never be rid o' me." He said, taking her hand and kissing it gently.

Her eyes glimmered and she shook her head as she smiled. Whatever words she might've thought to use, were not necessary.

_888_

_Cairo, Egypt_

Ororo looked back over her shoulder. She'd come away from her captors unscathed and had spent most of the night putting as much distance between herself and the apartment as possible. Her aptitude for stealth left little doubt in her mind that she was lost to them. Now that she had time to think, she wondered what her next move might be. Maintaining anonymity amongst the swell of people, her hair and face were covered by a simple brown bourque. Her only distinguishing feature, her clear blue eyes, which she kept to the ground. Standing against the wall of the opening market place, she tried to organize her thoughts.

The woman's name was Alima. She'd hired the goons to kidnap and hold her, offering them no explanation. But how did she know about her life? She knew about Ororo's connection with the professor. It was safe to assume that Alima also moved with the unsavoury crowd. Ororo was no idiot. The call she'd put out for the mutant had not been broadcast on the daily news. She'd only contacted those that she knew and trusted to get the word out to the right people, quickly, and off any government radar. No, this was personal, but it was the how that Ororo couldn't fathom. Alima was operating alone or doing someone else's dirty work, either scenario was baffling.

She could go back to New York. The professor might be able to find and scan the mind of this, woman and discover what her intentions might be. Having the team behind her would certainly help if there were more serious encounters ahead.

Ororo looked up, and time seemed to slow. The morning sky already held a hot sun, a thin spread of clouds in the distance. Coloured awnings of the market stalls billowed in the light wind, charms jangling to an absent tune. Small children ran through the large square, chasing a wheel an older boy pushed with all his might, passing another group of kids creating all sorts of shapes out of pieces of copper wire. Two men argued at a nearby stall, something about the price of the the cloth that he was selling. A mother and daughter across from her, filled their bags with the morning's purchases. The horn of a scooter sounded impatiently as it moved through the street not far from where she stood, and the chatter of a group of business men passed in front of her. The boards covering the windows of a cafe lifted and it's door opened. Four English tourists perused the market place happily, keen to purchase some authentic ornaments from Cairo.

"We have to be careful not to buy too much, or we're going to have to pay extra for the luggage." Linda, a short, well rounded woman said to her husband.

"I know love, but I promised Lucas and Amy we'd bring some things back. I don't want to disappoint." he countered.

"Well bloody hell," Dave said, "how often are we in Egypt. I say cough up the extra for the luggage, since I doubt you'll be back for some time, if at all." He bumped into a woman as he stepped away from the market stall, knocking her fruits from her hands. "Oh, I'm so sorry madam." Dave helped her pick up the three apples and orange that had dropped.

"You know, you never watch where you're going." Charlotte said, rolling her eyes.

Dave responded in kind. "It was an honest mistake. I didn't even see her standing near me until we knocked into each other. I could've sworn she wasn't there before."

"Well of course that would be the case, if you weren't paying attention." Finding the tea set she'd been inspecting to her liking, Charlotte tried to barter with the price before settling on a number neither she, nor the stall owner were happy with. "Dave, could you pay for these please? I'm running low on money."

He chuckled. "The story of your life, and sadly becoming mine too." His eyes widened as he felt nothing in his jacket pocket. He went through the remaining pockets incase he'd misplaced it. No luck. "My wallet, it's gone."

_888_

"What about inducing his unconscious state? Perhaps then we might be able to control these 'shifts'." Henry suggested to the professor. The war room had become the site for a massive brainstorming session amongst the team. For the time being, no global threats or disasters marred the team's schedule. All time could be devoted to solving the conundrum surrounding Logan... both of him.

"I don't believe that that would do much more than put him to sleep." The professor replied. "The shifts all seem to happen at random times. There's an incredible infrequency about the entire thing."

"Well, can you remember what happened during each shift?" Jean asked Logan.

Logan nodded. "Let's see: first I got my ass fried with a lightning bolt then Hank was doin' a check up in the infirmary. After that it was when I met my clone and again on the way back from alternate Cairo after meeting their informant."

"I wish I knew what was causing this." The professor tsked, more to himself than anyone in particular.

Remy collected his cards and began shuffling them again. "Or who. I mean, if you ask Remy, dey sound like perfec' moments to cut at in a story. Like de soap opera." They all turned. Feeling all eyes on him, he looked up from the cards. "Wha'? I don' watch dem... well, sometimes if I come in an' dey on. I don' want t' interfere wit' anyone's viewin' pleasure so I jus' leave it on. You know... but I don' watch 'em."

Scott nodded. "You know, Remy has a point. They it almost seems like it's being actively orchestrated."

The professor pondered. "To do that, someone would need to be watching closely." Every person in the room digested the statement and shifted uneasily, almost in unison.

"That's comfortin'." Logan sighed.

"Quite." The professor added.

"If someone were behind it, do you think they'd just stop?" Asked Jean. "I mean it has been over a week."

Charles looked to Logan. "Considering the amount of time and care taken to do all of this, I'm afraid I don't believe so. What about this contact that you met while in the other reality. If she helped you on that side, perhaps she might do so here. That's assuming there's any similarity between them. You said she's a doctor."

"Yeah, her name's Alima if I'm not mistaken."

_888_

Yusuf closed his apartment door behind him, flipping through the paper as he whistled a half remembered tune. He took his shoes off as he moved to the lamp on the side table, in favour of the toe-to-heel method. There was never any food in the refrigerator, so he rarely bothered to even set foot inside the kitchen. It showed: four plates that still had three week old, encrusted bits of take-away growing enough cultures for a years worth of lab experiments, dust bunnies and dead bugs in various corners for the rest. The place was small, terribly kept, and reeked of sex and smoke. It was clear that whoever lived here, did nothing of the sort. It would surprise no one that he rarely visited his own home.

He flopped into his single seater and propped his feet up on the aged coffee table. Suddenly aware, he lowered his paper and gulped. The murky reflection of someone behind him in the doorway, came from 1970 throwback of a television. "Take whatever you want." He said in Arabic.

"I will." Also in Arabic, the soft female tone of the reply relaxed him.

Yusuf turned to Ororo. She lowered her borque and flipped back her head covering. "For a man who once earned his living by picking locks, yours are so easy to pick, it's laughable." His expression was stunned. "You don't look happy to see me, Yusuf." She continued in English.

"What?" He laughed nervously. "Hey, come on, I was worried about you. Of course I'm happy to see you."

Ororo moved from the doorway. "Ah yes. My last memory of our time together, was us having some drinks in the cafe."

"Yes, and then some thugs came in to rob everybody. They took you, and I tried, but I barely escaped with my life."

"Thanks to some quick thinking on your part?" She asked, rounding in front of him and kicking his feet off the table. "I was wondering what you would say when you saw me, Yusuf. We've known each other since our days on the street, and even then I could smell your lies.

"Ororo, I'm not lying." He snorted nonchalantly.

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't think the three people I questioned from the cafe, would agree with you." Her hand landed square in his chest, sending a jolt of electricity through his body.

"Jesus Christ woman!" He shouted, gasping for air as he tried to regain control of his body. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" The tremors slowly subsided as Ororo moved back, taking her time to observe him.

"What you should ask, is what is right. And as time goes on, the answer becomes: increasingly little." A flicker of Storm remained. That morning in the market, the X-woman and Ororo had parted ways. Though Yusuf would never realize, she paused then to ask herself, for the last time, if she was ready to veer away from the life and character, that defined her. Ororo turned her back to him, looking out the window to the emergency stairwell. She took a deep breath. "We have known each other for a long time, so you understand what it means for me to give my word. If you lie to me now, I will maim you without hesitation. You have my word."

She turned back, eyes white.

Yusuf took a moment to gauge her words. "What do you want to know?"

"The people who took me, who are they?"

"I don't know exactly. Abas Bakahasab, he runs an underground brothel in Kerdasa, came to me, asking for information about you and why you had returned. I knew nothing about it, until you got into contact with me. He offered six thousand pounds, one thousand of your dollars, if I could give him a time and place that you would be."

"And the men who took me?"

"I have seen their faces but I do not know them. They are muscle for hire."

"What do you know of the woman with them?"

Yusuf's brow raised. "I don't." At Ororo's expression, he repeated himself, uneasy. "I swear to you, I don't."

"Your feelers run deep in this underworld, my friend. I find it hard to believe that you know nothing of her. Her name is Alima." He shook his head. "No hint or word? Think hard Yusuf." The corners of her eyes sparked and crackled.

"Don't." He brought his arms up to shield himself, the paper he'd walked in with, falling to the floor.

Ororo looked down at scattered sections. "Doctor awarded for work at Al-buhayrah Hospital." She read aloud, taking the paper. "Al-buhayrah Hospital has been the subject of much governmental debate over the past years. Following review and rumours of its closure, it seems that Cairo's only mental facility is safe for the future and it has Doctor Alima Ramzi to thank for that."

Ororo had forgotten about Yusuf, still cowering in his seat. The article itself was not what held her attention, but the accompanying photo. She brought her hand over the lower part of the woman's face concentrating on her eyes. She knew those eyes, they had bored themselves, painfully, into her mind days earlier. "Well, I guess that answers my question."

_888_

"Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three..." Logan counted push-up after push-up, stopping suddenly before getting to his feet. He dusted his hands off as he looked up, breathing hard. The decision had been made to move Logan to the danger room, the professor had felt it more conducive to his mental stability. The rest of the team had barely put an argument to it considering the comforting notion that over a dozen, potentially lethal weapons were targeted at him twenty-four hours a day. He couldn't see behind the tinted glass from the observation room above but on more than one occasion a day, he knew someone was there, watching him. The sensors for the door sounded.

"Logan," Ororo's voice came through the speakers, "may I enter?"

"Sure." He smoothed down his hair, only then realizing that he'd given it a buzz cut about a week earlier. He took a deep breath as she walked in, a strange feeling that he couldn't place, surfacing. "Hi 'Ro. It's good to see ya again." Logan greeted, smiling. "I'd offer ya somethin' t' drink but... well, I just moved in here and I haven't quite got my fridge stocked up yet." She chuckled, looking to the solitary bed and side table he'd been given. He did the same and for a split second, she felt her heart ache at the sound of his throaty laugh, a sound she hadn't heard in a long time from her own Logan. "My decoratin' skills aren't much." Within a few moments, noticing that her smile was only half, his expression became more serious. "How're ya doin', darlin'?"

"I should be asking you the same question, darlin'." She joked, trying to mimic his voice.

Logan grinned at the jab while looking around him. "My cell could be worse... an' I could be dead. So all things considered, I'm just peachy." Ororo was not sure what had changed about the man in front of her, but he was, brighter somehow. "Chuck's been playin' shrink, tryna get me t' sort through things. I'm pretty sure it ain't workin' but it's nice ta have a visitor."

"Logan, I'm sorry that I haven't..."

He shook his head. "Don' worry about it darlin', I'm glad that you're here at all" Their eyes locked and both of them fought to break contact.

Finally she spoke: "I'm sorry that we have to keep you here. But with things being as they are, I don't think we have another option."

He shrugged. "I don't actually mind. It's been years since I've had this kinda peace. Stayin' in one reality for more than a few days, knowin' that I'm gonna go t' sleep and wake up in the same place. Whatever it is that's happening here, I ain't complainin' just yet. 'sides, the professor's put in a couple of programs t' make me more comfortable." Logan announced. "They really tie the room together. Computer, run Oz 4." He called out, winking at Ororo.

As paint cascading thick down each wall, the program initialized. Slivers of distant scenery dripped into existence on the walls, as objects formed around them, first as a mirage, then seeming to become something more tangible. The once cold, grey metal transformed before them, coated by a fully immersive, digital rendition of what might come close to paradise. The ceiling was now a brilliant blue, merging with the sea at a deceptively far off horizon. Bright green grass, or at least the hologram of it, rushed under their feet, ending at the edge of the room and dropping to what seemed to be a cliff. Logan's bed now appeared as a small, one man tent. The sound of breaking water filled Ororo's ears as the vents in the room begun to simulate a soft breeze, and the lights changed their filter to mimic the sun's golden light.

"Where are we?" She asked, closing her eyes in an attempt to convince herself, just for a moment, that they had truly traveled to another place.

"Australia." He answered, watching the curve of her neck as she leaned her head back slightly. "I spent a few years here. It's the kinda country that you can truly get lost in if ya want to, among one of its many traits. So beautiful." He added, transfixed by her delicate profile.

"It most certainly is." She said softly, finally opening her eyes. Movement near the cliff's edge caught her attenti on. "What is that?"

Logan tore himself away from her. "Oh, that's Taz." He smiled. "First night I came here, I felt somethin' nibbling on my leg. I was so disoriented, I reverse rolled outta the tent, growled inta the night an' dared whoever was fuckin' with me t' take me on. That lil' thing comes crawlin' outta there an' I can't help but feel like a dick fer being scared t' death by an oversized rat." They laughed, both finding the thought of Wolverine being forced out of his tent swinging by such a beast, to be hilarious. "After telling 'Ro that, the jokes didn't stop. She even got me a bright red Taz t-shirt fer Christmas."

Ororo controlled her laughter long enough to ask: "Taz?"

"Y' know, Taz the Tazmanian devil from Hannah-Barbera?"

"Oh, you mean Warner Brothers." She remembered.

"What're ya talkin' about? Warner went bust years ago." Logan countered. "Come on 'Ro, ya can't tell me ya don't remember the shirt. I told ya I hated it but I wore it like a priest wears his collar."

She shook her head, confused. "That's the other Ororo, your Ororo."

"What're ya talkin' about, darlin'?" He asked, seeming equally as confused. He stepped closer to her and looked pained as she moved away from him. "You got it all wrong. I didn't see her that way an' I sure as hell didn't want her that way. Not like I want you." Again he tried to get closer to her, and again she stepped back. "It's just that ya had to be so damn stubborn, like you always are. I went up there an' I waited fer you. I was gonna apologize, patch things up." He shook his head, disapproving of the actions he now thought back on.

"Logan, stop and stay where you are." The room for all its size, instantly began to feel smaller and she found herself running out of space behind her. She didn't want to have to use her abilities on him but she could not deny her growing sense of unease.

"Then she came out, told me you'd be back in a few hours." He'd completely ignored her words. "I don't know why but I couldn't control myself around her. God I tried 'Ro, I fucking tried. It's like somethin' else took over. She kept telling me she wanted harder, rougher an' finally I just lost it. When it was done, she just kept laughin'." His words were lined with disgust. "She was gonna tell ya an' I knew you'd never forgive me. I didn't want ya to." The sadness in his voice proved a painfully strong contrast to the sounds of bright day in the danger room.

"Logan," Ororo tried.

"So I ran!" he shouted out. "Like a fucking punk, I ran! An' my life, my freedom an' my reality, were taken from me. My _mind _has been carved up like a goddamn Christmas turkey an' there ain't a fuckin' thing I can do about it." She reached out to him but he grabbed her wrist and held it too tight as he hurtled them both back against the wall. "Whoever Logan was, stopped existing that day. I tried to hold on but I knew that the only thing I had worth fighting for, was gone! The only person I knew would fight for me, had no reason to!"

"Logan, let go of me!"

His hand moved to grab her just at the curve where her neck met her shoulders, pinning her. He unsheathed his claws as he snarled into the air but she would never know it was to cause himself pain, not her. They tore into the metal wall at Ororo's side. "I don't want to. The last time anything made sense, was with you. It only ever makes sense, with you." Intense and unapologetic, his eyes studied every defined peak and smooth curve of her face. They moved down to his hand, still embedded in the wall by his claws and watched as Ororo placed her own hands on his. She felt his body tense against hers, but it was not out of rage. His claws retracted and he brought his arm around her waist. "'Ro." he said softly.

Again their eyes locked and he finally moved to kiss her. Ororo would later wonder if he'd moved a second earlier or later, whether her actions would've been the same. She turned her head to the side and felt his lips against her neck, so very familiar and yet completely foreign. Logan moaned into crevasse created by her delicate collar bone, the sensation causing her to moan in turn. She felt his body press up harder against hers as he lifted her. "Stop," she panted. "Logan, stop." He put her down, quite clearly reluctant. "I..." She searched for the words as she took in his form, telling her body what her mind already knew.

Without another word, she left, sealing the doors with the security code and finding herself stuck there once she had.

Despite her former life as a goddess, she knew what she was. What she was, was only human and controlling her emotions had long been a battle she'd struggled to win. Everything about the encounter was wrong. She'd convinced herself near the end of the conversation that she needed to stay with him to help him overcome the struggle that had only aided his declining mental state. In part, perhaps it had worked. He had said a lot more than she imagined, he had in the past years, to anyone. The setting was already creating a change in his behaviour, perhaps this was part of what he needed. But it had gone too far. It wasn't fair to him, since she was not his love and he was not hers. She had just helped to fuel his belief that she was and she couldn't let that happen again.

At least he could plead insanity, what was her excuse for nearly letting the situation get out of hand. She knew better. She knew the difference. Didn't she?

Logan stared at the door as it sealed in front of him, listening hard and catching the sound of Ororo's elevated heartbeat. He turned suddenly, looking up at the observation room.

Someone had been watching.

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
